


YES. YES. YES. GOODBYE?

by AppleSeeds



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Attraction, Aziraphale and Crowley are sceptical, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley got bopped on the head with a horny stick, Everywhere you look there's all this environment happening, Flirting, Ghosts, Halloween, M/M, Manipulation of a Ouija board for flirting purposes, Ouija, Paranormal, Paranormal Investigators, References to Canon, SCRYING, Shameless knuckle stroking, That's not a euphemism, The spirits ship them, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26855548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are independently dragged along to a paranormal investigation event in a haunted castle on Halloween. They're both extremely sceptical about the whole thing, but manage to keep themselves entertained.Self-indulgent Halloween nonsense, 10 chapters taking place between 8.45pm on 31st October and 3.15am on 1st November. Attraction will be instantaneous. Hands will be joined together for a séance. Fingers will brush against each other on the planchette of a Ouija board. A scrying mirror will be used for indiscreet ogling. Crowley will be dressed inappropriately and need warming up. You get the idea.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 207
Kudos: 176





	1. 8.45pm

**Author's Note:**

> I went on a paranormal investigation event like this last year with my friends in a 19th century castle so the format of the event is loosely based on that. There are no proper gaps in the narrative, this story all takes place over about 6.5 hours, most of which consists of Aziraphale and Crowley flirting with each other. I did also want to capture that amazing feeling when you spend lots of time with someone on the same night you meet them and really start to feel a connection. Hopefully I've succeeded! Of course, nothing is entirely straightforward with these two. Enjoy...

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Aziraphale huffed as he clambered inelegantly out of Tracy’s car, the gravel crunching beneath his feet as he gazed up at the castle, looming almost ominously in the darkness (if you had a tendency to see things that way, which he most assuredly did not).

“You’re here to support _me_ , aren’t you, love? Wouldn’t want me coming out to a spooky old castle on Halloween all by myself, would you? And there was no way the old man was going to come along; he has... _reservations_ about the young lady running the event.”

“He thinks she’s a witch,” Aziraphale reasoned.

“Bingo,” Tracy replied with an affirmative flick of her finger.

Tracy came around to Aziraphale’s side of the car and looped her arm in his.

“Not scared are you?” she teased.

“Of course not,” he replied honestly. Aziraphale had never placed much stock in anything ‘paranormal’, and a night of paranormal investigation in an early nineteenth century castle would hardly have been his first choice for how to spend Halloween. His first choice would have been to close up the bookshop, retreat to his flat upstairs, make sure all lights visible at street level were turned off to deter trick-or-treaters, and retire to bed with a good book, something with absolutely no horror or gothic elements. “I’m more concerned about staying awake for so long.”

“I’m sure there’ll be something to hold your attention,” Tracy smiled and tugged on his arm, knocking gently into him. Aziraphale still couldn’t quite believe he had a friend like Tracy. They had met each other at the theatre nearly ten years ago, where they had been attending a production of Phantom of the Opera and had been allocated seats next to each other. Aziraphale had no qualms about going to the theatre alone and didn’t generally make a habit of talking to other patrons, but when The Phantom had made his first appearance and Tracy had commented in hushed tones ‘ohhh he looks _very_ nice’ and Aziraphale had emphatically agreed, it seemed inevitable they would share _some_ conversation during the interval. After the performance, Tracy had ended up offering Aziraphale a lift home when she had spotted him waiting for a taxi, and, although initially primarily through Tracy’s effort, they had remained friends ever since.

Tonight’s paranormal investigation event was being hosted by Anathema Device of Shining Moon Ghost Hunts. According to the advert Tracy had sent to Aziraphale, Anathema would be teaching the participants how to use a range of tools and devices to search for ghosts, and Tracy would be supporting her by lending her powers of clairvoyance to the investigation. The whole thing seemed entirely ridiculous to Aziraphale, but he had been promised tea and biscuits and the opportunity to poke around a fascinating historic castle, so in the end he had agreed.

In terms of atmosphere, Anathema and Tracy couldn’t have asked for better weather. It was dry, but the stars were almost invisible, blocked out by the thick, gathering clouds. The temperature had plummeted as soon as the sun had set and the wind whipped through the trees, which creaked and swayed, sending leaves cascading down to scuttle along the ground.

Aziraphale pulled his woolly hat down further over his ears and praised himself for having the forethought to dig out his thermal vest for the first time since February. The cold wind may have been chilling his face, but his torso was currently too warm and rendered him sleepy already. It was about quarter-to-nine, and the event was due to run until three in the morning.

With her arm still linked with his, Tracy led Aziraphale to the castle entrance, carved pumpkins lining the walkway. He could hear the delighted squeals of children, and as they stepped inside a whole host of little monsters nearly collided with them: vampires, mummies, skeletons, cats and ghosts running around brandishing bats made from toilet roll tubes, black paper and string. The air was filled with the aroma of the sickly sweet scented candles burning in the carved pumpkins, spilled fruit squash and a distant hint of biblichor, the comforting aroma of the gradual decay of lignin in the pages of old books, which drew Aziraphale further into the castle.

“The kids will be leaving soon,” Tracy assured him, although Aziraphale had already assumed as much. As they passed through the space, dodging the frenetic scampering of costumed children, he glanced around at the tables of sweet treats and craft materials, and considered that perhaps he would rather be spending the evening engaged as these children had been than hunting for ghosts.

Leaving the children’s party behind, Tracy led Aziraphale up a grand, curved flight of stairs lit only by the soft glow of candles encased in wall-mounted lanterns. Aziraphale ran his hand slowly and deliberately over the polished handrail of the ornate staircase, appreciating the care afforded to it. He cast his eyes around at the gold-framed portraits lining the walls, down to the painstakingly restored vermilion patterned carpet, and up to the white ceilings, cracked, stained with mould and adorned with webs woven by spiders that had long since died.

They followed the sound of voices along a corridor and through a door that had been propped open with a large tin of white paint. Aziraphale squinted as his eyes were confronted with the harsh, artificial light of the room, a stark contrast to the soft, delicate candlelight of the landing. A young man with scruffy dark hair and glasses was completing the set-up of a circle of stackable metal-framed cushioned chairs covered with emerald green velvet, while a young woman with long, dark hair and thick-framed round glasses rushed towards the door to greet Tracy. The two women hugged and kissed each other on the cheek.

“You must be Aziraphale; Tracy said she was bringing a friend. Hi, I’m Anathema.”

“A pleasure,” Aziraphale offered distractedly, glancing around the room.

“In the corner,” Anathema said in return, apropos of nothing.

“I’m sorry?”

“The tea and biscuits, they’re in the corner,” Anathema smiled, pointing over towards the window. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes accusingly at Tracy, who simply squeezed his arm and sent him off towards the tea table with a flick of her hand. Aziraphale did not complain, experiencing the mild thrill that came with being the first to a table of refreshments, knowing he would have free choice of biscuits and wouldn’t have to deal with the chaos and debris of other users: tacky circles of drying coffee spills, soggy tea bags and, God forbid, a coffee-coated teaspoon in the sugar.

Exchanging a mumbled greeting with the young man, who had now finished setting up the circle of chairs, Aziraphale headed over to the table and clasped his hands together as he surveyed it. The options weren’t quite as exciting as anything he’d seen the children downstairs had been treated to, but there was still a delightful selection: oat biscuits, chocolate chip cookies, Viennese whirls and chocolate-covered shortbreads.

“You can take more than one, we have plenty,” he heard from the opposite corner of the room, turning to see Anathema scrutinising him with amusement lighting up her eyes.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied primly, turning back towards the table and pointedly taking one of each type of biscuit, folding them up protectively inside a thin, white paper napkin. He made himself a cup of tea, wincing when he discovered that disposable cups were the only option (they were of a decent quality and labelled as compostable, but he strongly felt that tea should be served in a _proper_ cup), and settled himself on one of the chairs in the circle, munching quite contentedly on his shortbread.

Tracy headed over to the table to make herself a cup of tea and then came to sit beside him. Other people had started to arrive, and Anathema was greeting each of them warmly and encouraging them over to the tea table and the circle of chairs. The young man who had set up the chairs was now unpacking a box full of strange electronic devices, frowning regularly to himself as he tested them, swapping out batteries and fiddling with knobs and cables.

After ten minutes, the chairs were almost fully occupied. Tracy was chatting to whoever was sitting on her other side and Aziraphale was on his third biscuit, already considering how he might discreetly secure another chocolate-covered shortbread for himself, the taste test confirming it to be the superior of the available options. He hoped the other attendees had not realised the same, as he would have hated to return to the refreshments table and find the shortbread all gone. He turned his head to check, smiling at the ample biscuits that remained before scowling at the group of overly enthusiastic twenty-somethings who had chosen that moment to head over to the table.

Stifling a yawn already, Aziraphale found himself wondering what could attract someone to an event like this. He started looking around the circle, appraising the attendees. There was certainly a mixture of all ages, and as the jovial crowd of young people from the refreshments table giggled their way back to their chairs, he considered that perhaps it was just a fun, social outing for most, rather than born out of any belief in paranormal phenomena. Fun, social outings weren’t something Aziraphale himself tended to engage in beyond his theatre trips with Tracy and the occasional tea and cake with his small number of other acquaintances.

The room was now almost full, with only the two chairs opposite him still empty. Excitement was bubbling from everyone in the circle, huddling together in their groups or with their partners as best they could with the seating arrangements, laughing and chattering, and Aziraphale began to feel particularly out of place, conspicuous and exposed, despite the fact that undoubtedly no one would notice him. He leaned down to place his empty cup on the floor beside the chair, giving him a moment to sigh discreetly and attempt to push his feelings of loneliness aside. He wanted to support Tracy, but he should have considered the fact that she would be working and would inevitably need to speak to other people, leaving him alone. He focused his attention on his final biscuit, the chocolate chip cookie, breaking off and eating a small piece at a time, withdrawing into his own little world.

He was roused from his introspection by the sound of the paint tin being shoved to the side by Anathema’s foot and the door slamming shut. He gasped and his head snapped up. That was probably the closest he would have to a real fright all night, he considered cynically. The circle was now complete, all eyes on Anathema, standing in a small break in the circle at the front of the room and explaining the plan for the night.

Aziraphale allowed himself a quick glance opposite to appraise the two latecomers, his eyebrows shooting up and his eyes widening as his studied the man sitting directly across from him. Heat flooded through his body, causing him to instinctively rip his hat off his head and tug aggressively at his scarf until it fell into his lap. The man, who, fortunately for Aziraphale, was paying attention to Anathema, was _outrageously_ attractive. He was tall and slim with short, meticulously-styled copper hair that Aziraphale already wanted to run his hands through, and he did nothing to stop himself from visualising doing so. The man was leaning back in his chair in a manner that made Aziraphale’s lower back ache just looking at him. It made him seem so confident and relaxed that Aziraphale actually envied him for it. His posture also suggested that perhaps he wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about his participation in the event, and Aziraphale wondered whether he had been dragged along by the person beside him, just as he himself had been by Tracy.

Aziraphale popped the remainder of the cookie in his mouth with a smile. The sleepiness that had been creeping up on him had been chased away, and Aziraphale permitted himself one final glance up and down the man’s delectable body. He was dressed all in black in a way that suggested it reflected his usual style rather than simply being a nod to the spooky season, with a loose grey scarf slung around his neck. He looked absolutely perfect. Aziraphale licked his lips and then reluctantly turned his attention to Anathema. Tracy had been right; he had found something to hold his attention after all.


	2. 9pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley arrives at the castle and meets an angel. It's time to get into a circle and hold hands, everyone!

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Crowley groaned as he slammed the car door shut and kicked the gravel at his feet.

“Come on, we’ll be late!” Bee growled in return. “I thought you were into spooky stuff?”

“This isn’t _spooky stuff_. This is ridiculous. It’ll be a load of kids just out of university running around squealing and cackling and _ugh_.” Crowley rolled his eyes but Bee was already well ahead of him, so he sighed and followed their hurried, marching footsteps towards the castle, taking long strides to catch up with them.

Crowley grimaced as the soles of his favourite faux-snake skin boots struck the floor of the entryway, which was sticky with the evidence of a previous children’s party. The garlands of spiders and bats and the flickering of pumpkin lanterns were accompanied by an eerie, incongruous silence, broken only by Bee’s boots clacking harshly against the wooden floor.

“Come _on_!” they urged, grabbing Crowley’s arm and dragging him towards the staircase leading up to the room where they would meet the leaders of this _paranormal investigation_. Crowley huffed out a breath and shook his head. He’d much rather be back at his flat, alone, settling onto his couch with a nice glass of red wine and a classic horror film.

He allowed himself to be ushered into a brightly lit room, already full of people. He glanced at his watch: 21:01, they weren’t really _late_ despite Bee’s fretting. That said, there were only two empty chairs left, and he slouched down into one of them, glancing briefly at a table in the corner where he could see coffee, but deciding he’d better not delay the start of this ridiculous event any more by getting up to fetch some. Bee chatted excitedly with the woman at the front of the room (who looked more like an actual witch than anyone Crowley had ever seen in real life) for a moment before coming over to join him. He made a point of slouching down further into his chair, turning his attention to the front when the woman kicked the tin of paint that had been propping the door open out of the way, causing it to slam shut.

“Good evening, everyone, happy Halloween and blessed Samhain! My name is Anathema, I run Shining Moon Ghost Hunts, and this is Newt, he’ll be in charge of all the tech tonight, so if you pick up something and can’t get it to work, just come and ask Newt and I’m sure he’ll try to help and not make it any worse.” Anathema squinted at the young man beside her and he looked away sheepishly. “I’m sure you all know roughly what to expect but just to explain what we’ve got planned quickly, we’re all going to stay together at first and do a big séance in the great hall, then we’re going to split up into two groups and try some scrying, and then finally you’ll go off in pairs and you can take some of the equipment and do your own investigations in different parts of the castle. This is the break room, it’ll stay open all night, you can come back here and help yourselves to tea or coffee and biscuits as much as you like, does that all sound good?”

There was plenty of enthusiastic assent from the group, but Crowley just sank further into his chair. At least she’d said there would be plenty of opportunities for coffee.

“We’ve got lots of different tools you can borrow when you go off to do your own investigations,” she continued, gesturing to a table that the young man, presumably Newt, was perched on. “Ouija boards, pendulums, EMF recorders and EVP boxes, sorry, that’s electromagnetic frequencies and electronic voice phenomena. We’ve also set up some recorders to detect temperature fluctuations and movement, we can check out what they’ve picked up when we all meet back up at the end.”

Anathema gave some more instructions and Newt demonstrated the use of the equipment, and the room then filled with excited chatter.

“There is one more person I need to introduce you to; we’re very lucky to have Tracy Shadwell here with us this evening, she’s a wonderful medium and she’s going to be seeing if she can sense anything during our time here tonight.”

Anathema gestured towards a woman sitting almost directly opposite Crowley in the circle, but Crowley only glanced at her for the briefest of moments, his attention immediately drawn to the man sitting beside her. How had he not noticed _him_ when he came in? Crowley turned his head very slightly so that his face was pointing at the woman, Tracy, but he let his eyes drift to the side. Oh God, the man was stunning. _Gorgeous_. Fucking hell, it shouldn’t be legal to look that good. Honestly, it might not be, that wasn’t really Crowley’s area of expertise. Forget about investigating the _occult_ , this man was fucking _ethereal_. He had the most beautiful face Crowley had ever seen, and he desperately hoped he would have the chance to inspect it more closely later.

The man was smiling towards Tracy, a smile so sincere and soft that it was unnervingly, albeit _deliciously_ unnervingly, otherworldly. His round cheeks were flushed as though he were actually warm (difficult to believe given that it was fucking _freezing_ ), and he had glorious soft blonde curls, which seemed almost white under the bright fluorescent lights, sticking up adorably in all directions. Crowley glanced down to see him clutching a woolly hat in his lap, and assumed he had just removed it and not thought to smooth his hair down. Crowley wanted nothing more than to get his hands in that hair and see if he could mess it up even more.

Crowley didn’t even try to reprimand himself or put a stop to his thoughts. He had been dragged to this ridiculous event by his best friend Bee (he did owe them one, and relented once they _promised_ that he wouldn’t have to go into any confined spaces), who believed in demons and poltergeists and all that shit. If Crowley had now actually found something to keep himself entertained during this farce, he wasn’t about to put a stop to it.

The man Crowley had been ogling was turned slightly away, leaning towards Tracy, in fact not just _towards_ her, their arms were brushing against each other. Crowley couldn’t properly see the man’s hands, they were covered by the hat and scarf in his lap, but he looked at Tracy’s as she spoke to the group with animated gestures (something about the veil between this world and the spirit world being thinnest on Halloween), and immediately spotted her wedding ring. Damn it. Oh well, that didn’t need to put an end to his lustful fantasies, although they would have been more fun if he’d thought he actually had even the most miniscule chance of acting on them.

People started shuffling in their chairs and standing up, putting coats back on if they’d taken them off, and Crowley wished he’d given some thought to how cold it was actually going to be. He’d just thrown on a black, waist-length jacket, and it wasn’t going to be anywhere near warm enough. He adjusted his scarf to wrap it more snugly around his neck. Bee was buzzing around him like an excited little insect as Crowley hauled himself up out of the chair.

“Coffee,” he mumbled and headed over to the table in the corner as everyone else made their way towards the door, following Anathema and Newt. He placed a cup (disposable, _of course_ , and Crowley flinched, cursing himself for not thinking to bring his travel mug) under the nozzle of the urn and pulled down on the lever, turning back towards the door and being treated to a _very_ pleasant view of the man he’d been ogling walking away from him... His attention snapped back to the coffee when he felt a scalding hot splash on his finger as the cup overfilled. “Shit!” he grumbled under his breath, taking a painful sip of the burning hot coffee to reduce the level of the liquid enough to carry it, before chasing after Bee.

The group was ushered back down the curved staircase and along a corridor into a large, almost empty chamber with a high ceiling, with a big fancy fireplace at one end and a large dining table at the other. It was a relief to get away from the bright white lights of the room upstairs, which had been making Crowley’s eyes sore. He hadn’t considered that he might need to wear his usual sunglasses to a purportedly haunted castle after sunset in autumn.

Crowley’s eyes immediately began searching the room for the ethereal entity, the _angel_ , finding him running his fingertips over the carvings on the fireplace, his expression one of intrigue and wonder. Crowley’s mind obediently supplied imagery of those fingertips tracing delicately over the planes of his body, looking at him with that very same expression. He wondered if maybe the angel had also been dragged here against his will, perhaps only coming to admire the architecture of the castle. He did look like someone who might enjoy admiring an old castle, with his old-fashioned, albeit sophisticated style, which Crowley could now see included a waistcoat, just peeking out from between the undone buttons of his long, thick, beige overcoat. The kind of coat someone _should_ wear to an event like this.

Perhaps, as most of the attendees at this event clearly believed, there really were _unseen forces_ in that hall, because Crowley felt himself being drawn across the room towards the angel. He kept to the edges, pretending that he too was interested in the portraits and interpretation panels hung up along the walls. He flicked his eyes away from an interpretation panel he’d stared at for sufficiently long for it to appear as though he’d been reading it, glancing towards the angel’s last known location. He had moved, but a quick scan revealed that he had actually moved closer to Crowley. _Much_ closer to Crowley. Feeling daring, Crowley took a few more steps to close the distance, no idea where Bee was, and giving as little of a shit about that as it is actually possible for anyone to give. You’d have needed a high-powered electron microscope to see it.

“Right, everyone, welcome to the great hall!” Anathema’s booming voice filled the chamber and produced an echo. “We’re going to start with a séance with us all together.”

“It’s good to start in a big group and combine all of our energy and let it flow between us, really raise the energy in the castle to help us connect with the spirits tonight,” Tracy added. “I’ll be seeing what I can pick up, but you should all pay attention to any sensations you experience as well.” Tracy was still standing beside the angel, and now she had her arm linked with his. Typical.

_I know whose energy I want flowing through me_ , Crowley thought, not quite sure what that was meant to be a euphemism for, but whatever it was, it was something he definitely would have wanted to do with the angel.

“So let’s make a big circle and join our hands to make a complete circuit for the energy to travel through,” Tracy continued, grasping the hand of the angel and sending the most inappropriate and unwarranted pulse of jealousy he had ever experienced surging through Crowley’s chest. He physically shivered, although that was certainly from the icy cold air that bit into his skin like millions of tiny pinpricks.

“Since when do you give a flying fuck about history?” Bee grumbled accusingly, gesturing to the interpretation panel Crowley had been pretending to read before grabbing his hand with more force than required, securely linking it with their own. Had they been beside him this whole time? Bee leaned forward to look around past Crowley. “Oh, _now_ I get it,” they cackled, evidently having seen the gloriousness that was an actual angel walking the Earth, before shuffling back and offering their other hand to the person beside them. For the first time all night, Crowley felt warmth settle in his cheeks.

The circle started to form, small groups who had linked hands with each other reaching hands out towards strangers, and Crowley may even have sent out a little prayer to God or the spirits or the demons or the fucking vampires, werewolves and zombies, whatever it took, that when he reached his free hand out to his side, the angel would be there ready to take it.

_Imagine if that actually happened_.

His stalking of the angel to this side of the room had been more strategic than just an attempt to get a closer look at him (which he had, and it had only served to solidify his first assessment of _fucking gorgeous_ ); Anathema had said they would start with a séance. Séances usually involved linking hands. Crowley wasn’t an _idiot_. Well...

“Oh, hello,” a friendly voice materialised at his side. That _had_ to be him. Of course the angel would have a voice like that! Crowley forced an appropriate, suitably friendly smile onto his face before he turned his head. This was actually going to happen. He wondered which of the entities he’d prayed to had actually responded.

“Hi,” Crowley drawled, presenting his palm to the angel, who hesitated for a moment, his eyebrows raised and lips pressed together, seeming to cast judgement on the whole endeavour. Crowley rolled his eyes, attempting an expression that would convey the same, distracted by the opportunity he had to behold the angel up close. He could now make out his eyes, a deep blue flecked with grey like a storm at sea, in which Crowley would gladly let himself get lost and shipwrecked. The angel settled his palm on top of Crowley’s, and ohhh it was so soft and _implausibly_ warm, the heat travelling up through Crowley’s hand and wrist and radiating up his arm.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he mumbled.

“Whatever for?”

“My hand is freezing.”

“Oh, not to worry. Hopefully I can warm you up a bit.” The angel smiled that ethereal smile that Crowley had seen directed at Tracy earlier, and then had the _glorious audacity_ to squeeze Crowley’s hand more tightly. Crowley clenched his other hand into a fist reflexively, earning him a growl and a painful elbow in the stomach from Bee. Fuck Bee, this whole thing was their fault anyway; maybe they’d think twice before dragging him along to something against his will next time.

Under other circumstances, Crowley might have believed that the angel was actually _flirting_ with him by saying something like that, but that soft smile (fuck, everything about him was _soft_ ) seemed to convey nothing but kindness, as though if he could give anything of himself to make someone else more comfortable, then he would.

_Ugh, I did not just think that! He’s hot, in every possible way, just focus on that._

The angel maintained his tight grip on Crowley’s hand and then actually _brushed his thumb_ across his knuckles. Crowley’s skin erupted in goose pimples, which could have been due to the cold, but that didn’t explain the dizzying heat that started building in his abdomen. Crowley glanced down at their joined hands. The angel’s nails were perfectly manicured, and there was no sign of a ring. Crowley obviously knew that not all men wore wedding rings, but the angel didn’t seem like the type not to take every opportunity to declare his love and commitment.

Crowley shook his head and rolled his eyes, and if he’d had his hands free, he would have buried his face in them in response to that thought. The man had said less than twenty words to him, for Crowley to even _think_ he could know anything about him was insane. He considered brushing his own thumb across the angel’s knuckles. Maybe he would... in a bit. He desperately wanted to feel more of that softness. Sparks of electricity were shooting up his arm, through his heart and right down to his groin. He lowered his head and grinned privately. If he’d been asked when he was much younger, he never would have said that he would still be reacting like this at forty. He fucking _loved_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attendees will need to go off in pairs in a bit, will they Anathema? You don't say.....
> 
> Will Crowley be brave enough for reciprocal brushing-knuckles-with-thumb do you think???
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this so far, thank you for your kudos and comments! :-)


	3. 9.30pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone experience any interesting sensations during the séance??

Tracy was leading the group through a visualisation exercise, but Aziraphale heard none of it. He couldn’t quite believe that he’d had the good fortune to be standing near to the outrageously handsome stranger when the circle had started to form; they seemed to have drifted together like they were caught in each other’s orbit. Although, did Aziraphale have something to do with the fact that they had been stood right next to each other the moment the circle had started to form? Well, _yes_ , and what about it? There's nothing wrong with seeking out opportunities for entertainment; you can’t just be expecting them to always come to you.

The poor man’s hand was absolutely freezing, and Aziraphale had squeezed it tightly, hoping to transfer some warmth to him. What he would rather have done would have been to break the circle, drag the man off somewhere private and do much more to try to warm him up, but perhaps it was best not to think about such things while the two of them were actually holding hands. Something about the coldness of the man’s hand augmented Aziraphale’s awareness of it, the length of his fingers, the texture of his skin. A shiver crept up Aziraphale’s arm, and as though something was drawing him towards this man, wanting to be closer and to make a connection with him, Aziraphale found himself running his thumb back and fore over his knuckles. He forced himself to stop quite quickly, as that was perhaps taking things a little too far, unless his intention was to _flirt_ , which might be fun, but would surely be a pointless endeavour.

As he held the man’s slender hand (imagining more creative activities for those long, cool fingers) in his own, Aziraphale already felt a sort of kinship with him. They had shared a glance before joining hands, which Aziraphale had interpreted as confirmation that this man indeed shared his views about the evening’s activities, leading him to feel like the two of them were on the same side against everyone else in the castle and all their talk of spirits, ghosts and clairvoyance.

Aziraphale had enjoyed reading about the history of the castle from the interpretation panels, which had included no mention of ghosts, and was looking forward to exploring the remainder of the castle on his own later. He tried to focus on what he had learnt, rather than the slight flexing of the hand he was holding, the shivers still creeping up his arm, and the melding of their temperatures to reach a lukewarm midway point where their hands were joined.

Tracy instructed everyone in the circle to close their eyes, and Aziraphale complied. He wasn’t exactly the disobedient type, and besides, he had come here to support Tracy, and couldn’t very well be seen ignoring her instructions. Of course, someone would only see him if they too had their eyes open, and perhaps they would lock eyes across the circle and smile at each other like co-conspirators. Of course, there was only one person amongst this crowd that Aziraphale particularly wanted to lock eyes with, to smile at, to conspire with, and _he_ was stood beside him.

As soon as his eyes were closed, Aziraphale’s sense of touch seemed to be heightened. He was free to focus on nothing other than... oh... oh _Good Lord_...

The man was now doing what Aziraphale had been doing earlier, rubbing his thumb casually over Aziraphale’s knuckles. How could such an insignificant touch from a stranger do... _this_? Aziraphale swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He could _hear_ himself breathing faster, although he wasn’t entirely sure how he was _able_ to hear it over the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. _Now what?_

As far as Aziraphale could ascertain, there were multiple possible options for response open to someone finding themselves in his current situation:

  1. Loosen your grip (letting go entirely was not an option, for whatever would that do to the _energy in the room_? Aziraphale scoffed silently). Translation = “I’m uncomfortable with this.”
  2. Don’t respond = “I’m comfortable with this. I’m not even really thinking about it. Honestly.”
  3. Tighten your grip = Ambiguous, but probably would be interpreted as an indication of approval.
  4. Reciprocate, so you’re both stroking each other’s fingers simultaneously = Somehow worse than the fact they had each done it asynchronously, this would probably be interpreted as “I want to touch you more.”
  5. Tug his hand closer to you, maybe even close enough that he’s touching more than your hand = “As soon as this is over, let’s find somewhere private and...”



_Ok, that’s quite enough of that._

_For now, certainly._

Besides, the moment had passed; the man was no longer stroking his knuckles. Aziraphale opted for a belated rendition of option 3, which was reciprocated. Simultaneous hand squeezing. That would do nicely.

They remained like that for several minutes, until Anathema and Tracy were convinced that the energy in the room had been sufficiently raised ( _how wonderful_ ), and everyone in the circle released each other’s hands. Aziraphale waited as long as was reasonable before releasing the stranger’s hand, then licked his lips and took a deep breath, turning to the man beside him, who did the same.

_Ok, options..._

_No time for options!_

Aziraphale looked into his eyes and smiled. Dear God, he really was _ridiculously_ attractive.

“Good energy. In the room,” the man muttered after clearing his throat.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely,” Aziraphale replied with mock sincerity, before his attention was drawn to his other side by Tracy tugging on his arm. With one last apologetic smile directed towards the stranger, he turned to listen to Tracy talking about the presence she had felt in the room while in the circle. She even asked Aziraphale whether he had experienced any sensations. He quickly turned his head to check the stranger was out of earshot before replying, “Yes, I definitely felt _something_.”

Anathema solicited everyone’s attention, thanking them for sharing their energy, and proceeded to talk about some of the ghosts that were most frequently seen in and around the castle. Apparently, you were most likely to encounter the apparition of a ‘red lady’ in one of the bedrooms on the second floor, a mischievous boy who liked to move things around a bit when you weren’t looking (usually accompanied by the ghost of his dog, which you might feel brush up against your legs), and four horsemen riding through the car park. Anathema asked Tracy to share what she’d picked up while everyone had been stood in the circle, and she described a tall, mysterious cloaked figure whose face she had been unable to see, who had apparently passed through the wall and out towards the car park.

Anathema took some time to ask the people attending the event whether they had experienced anything, and several people shared stories of suddenly feeling cold ( _but certainly not because they were in an old castle_ , Aziraphale thought), sensing a presence, or experiencing a strange tingling sensation. Tracy turned expectantly to Aziraphale, presumably hoping he would share what he had experienced, but there had been nothing strange about the tingling sensation _he_ had felt, and it certainly couldn’t be characterised as an _unexplained_ phenomenon. Furthermore, it was hardly something he would wish to share with the room. Although, for a moment he considered it, for wouldn’t that be a rather fun and ostentatious way to flirt with an outrageously attractive man, to say the experience had made him go all tingly, while sharing a _meaningful glance_?

“ _I_ actually experienced something.”

Everyone, including Aziraphale, looked towards the source of the voice. It was _him_ , the creature so divine that heaven wouldn’t have been able to handle him and would most certainly have kicked him out. Aziraphale had been sure from their exchanged glance that the man was not taking the event seriously, and his stomach flopped over in anticipation of what he might say. He couldn’t be about to do what Aziraphale had considered... _could he_?

“Oh yes?” Anathema asked him with what appeared to be genuine interest. The person standing beside the fallen angel was staring at him incredulously.

“Yeah... everyone’s been saying how cold they felt but for me it was like a localised warmth, more of an intense heat really, radiating through my body. It was actually quite pleasant.”

The person beside him hit him on the arm. It was possibly intended playfully but it appeared to have been delivered rather violently, and earned them a defensive scowl.

“Well, that’s very interesting and I’m glad you’ve mentioned that, because different people do indeed react very differently to the presence of the spirits,” Tracy supplied.

“How interesting. Thank you.” There was no _ectoplasm_ emanating from the man, but what _was_ dripping from him, besides his intense sex appeal, was quite an _extraordinary_ amount of sarcasm. No one else, except for the person accompanying him, seemed to pick up on it. The man glanced over to Aziraphale and very quickly raised his eyebrows. _That was flirting, right?_ Aziraphale was starting to wonder if the shameless knuckle stroking had been a mistake. Though if it was, someone had forgotten to copy Aziraphale’s face in when that message had been circulated, because he could feel his cheeks aching from smiling.

When everyone had finished sharing their experiences, Anathema repeated what would be happening next. The plan was to split everyone into two groups, one led by Tracy and one led by Anathema and Newt, to have a go at some scrying. Apparently this would involve staring into a mirror and trying to see images in it, a bit like a fortune teller with a crystal ball. Aziraphale’s interpretation was that, presumably, the point was to stare at the mirror for so long without blinking that your eyes went funny and you saw all sorts of strange things.

Aziraphale wanted to make sure that he ended up in the same group as the fallen angel, but that desire was now clouded by a _small_ amount of hesitancy. Tracy bustled around the room, approaching a few groups of people and asking them to join her, and of course she approached _him_ , because, well, _of course_ she did. When Tracy ushered them out of the room, the man sidled up to Aziraphale as they walked.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“Some of these people would give their right arm to have an experience like what you described,” Aziraphale delivered nonchalantly, not even glancing to his side.

“You... you do know I was joking right?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s just, you’re hot. I mean, you’re _too_ hot... I... My _point_ is, why _are_ you so hot? We’re in a castle at night on Halloween!”

The double meaning wasn’t lost on Aziraphale, and he toyed with the idea that it might be intentional. He hadn’t had the opportunity to engage in this kind of flirting for more years than he wanted to count. His last few relationships had all been born of mundane conversations about compatibility, followed by getting to know each other, all perfectly comfortable but with a distinct absence of flirting and certainly no excitement. Aziraphale found himself wanting to indulge in this game, each party taking small steps forward, pushing a little bit more, looking for signs of rejection... but if none were forthcoming, how far could this game actually go?

“It’s just a matter of appropriate clothing, my dear,” Aziraphale responded smugly, adjusting his collar slowly and rolling his shoulders.

There was a pause, and when Aziraphale turned to his side he saw that the man had actually started walking more slowly, and had fallen a few paces behind him. Was that a sign Aziraphale had overstepped? Although, what he’d said wasn’t particularly _provocative_ , so surely not? Nevertheless, the hesitancy started to build in his gut a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I don't think it's what you *said* Aziraphale... ;-)


	4. 10pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go off together?

_Fucking hell. What a bastard. What a fucking gorgeous bastard._

Crowley followed the others in Tracy’s group and slinked into the room she led them to, hanging at the back of the group (partially for optimum angel viewing privileges). There were various Victorian-style armchairs dotted around the room, another fancy fireplace, a piano and a dressing table, onto which a large mirror had been placed. Tracy perched on the edge of the dressing table and the group gathered around her.

The angel was right at the front, but he was also standing at the edge of the group, so Crowley had a good enough view. There were only about twelve people in the room. After Crowley had made a fool of himself acting like a blithering idiot and calling the angel hot right to his face, the angel had just maintained that cool collectedness that was already starting to wind Crowley up in more ways than one. If the angel really hadn’t thought anything of being called hot, maybe that was a sign that this flirtation really was one-sided, even if the angel _had_ been the one to instigate the knuckle stroking. But then the way he had slowly and deliberately adjusted his collar just now, drawing attention to that gorgeous, kissable neck... Could he really be completely oblivious to the effect that would have on Crowley?

Well, all the better if he was, really. It would give Crowley the opportunity to ogle in peace, and to flirt as much as he wanted without worrying about the consequences.

Crowley tried to tune into Tracy’s explanation of scrying. She wanted members of the group to sit at a chair in front of the mirror and stare at their reflection for a while and see if it transformed at all. Apparently spirits were able to alter your image to make your reflection look like theirs, and the rest of the group was instructed to watch closely for anything changing in the mirror as well. Why this would only work in a room lit only by a few candles, and only if you stared at the mirror for long enough that your vision would inevitably end up going dodgy, was a mystery to Crowley. Bee was stood just in front of him, and started buzzing around the group, discreetly attempting to move closer to the front, either to volunteer or to watch, Crowley really didn’t care which.

“Aziraphale, be a love and demonstrate for everyone, will you?” Tracy asked, smiling at the angel.

_Fuck me. Aziraphale! His name is Aziraphale? Also, yeah, fuck me, Aziraphale._ Crowley smiled to himself as if that was the cleverest double meaning anyone could ever come up with, with bonus points for the fact that he could find something so childish so wonderfully entertaining.

Tracy gently, but assertively, grabbed hold of the angel’s arm and steered him into the chair. He furrowed his brow but complied, leaning back and looking into the mirror. Crowley started following Bee nearer to the front to get a better look.

Aziraphale ( _I’m sorry but really? FUCK ME_ ) started staring at his own reflection, and Crowley (along with everyone else in the room, so it was perfectly acceptable to do so) was staring at the mirror too. The candlelight was casting interesting shadows over his face, and his white blond curls were practically glowing. His eyes looked darker in the reduced illumination, but they were sort of shimmering in the warm glow of the flames, and Crowley found himself thinking of other things he’d like to do with _Aziraphale_ by candlelight.

_Aziraphale..._

_Oh come on, you can’t find his_ name _sexy, that’s insane._

Maybe it _was_ insane to be physically affected just by the thought of a hot stranger’s weird (hot) name. But it was completely _reasonable_ to feel that way from looking at his face in candlelight, so that’s what Crowley focused on. At one point, betraying the instructions he’d been given, Aziraphale’s eyes flicked away from his own reflection, and that very reflection locked eyes with Crowley. It felt like someone had sliced his chest open, grabbed hold of his heart and shoved it down into his stomach. Either that or they’d just bopped him on the head with a horny stick.

_Wait... what?_

_Horny stick, ha._

The moment passed quickly, but the lingering sensations in his body left Crowley with no doubt that it had happened. Had Aziraphale seen him staring out of the corner of his eye and felt uncomfortable, and was trying to get him to look away? Surely not, after all, everyone else was staring too. Oh, but of course, everyone else actually believed in this shit. Reluctantly, Crowley glanced away from the mirror, for _at least_ five seconds, before turning back but trying to tone down the intensity a bit. He may not have been particularly successful. A wide, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. This was _brilliant_.

Encouraged by Tracy, several people started talking about changes they could see in Aziraphale’s reflection. Crowley was distracted. _Aziraphale_. He couldn’t get over it. That was definitely a name Crowley could envisage himself saying (moaning) repeatedly. While the rest of the group was looking for ghostly influences modifying Aziraphale’s reflection, Crowley was thinking more about other changes that might happen to his features... what it would take to elicit certain expressions... what his face would look like if...

_Calm down, Crowley. That woman talking right now? You hear her? She might very well be his wife and what if she is actually psychic?_ At that, he actually laughed softly out loud and covered it with a cough, and the eyes of both Tracy and Aziraphale, via his reflection, locked with his. _Behave yourself._ He cleared his throat and smiled. Something about the way Tracy looked at him unnerved him, as if she really _could_ read his mind, but at that moment he actually hoped she could, because she seemed, if anything, _pleased_ rather than annoyed, which would tend to suggest she wasn’t actually Aziraphale’s wife.

Either that or her expression was one of a predator circling her next victim. Crowley flinched and took a step back. Aziraphale was getting up out of the chair and Tracy opened her mouth to speak, still looking at Crowley, when Bee piped up, “Can I try?”

Crowley smirked. _I love that little fucker sometimes._

* * *

Several other members of the group volunteered for the scrying experiment, and then afterwards a few people approached Aziraphale to describe all sorts of hideous things they believed they’d seen in his face while he'd been sat in the chair ( _how flattering_ , he thought). Once everyone who wanted to have a go had done so, Tracy led the group back to the break room where they met up with the other participants, who had been scrying with Anathema and Newt.

Anathema gave a couple of quick reminders about how to use the equipment, and suggested the participants go off in pairs and investigate as many different parts of the castle as possible.

“Tracy and I will be wandering around the castle to see how you’re getting on and to help you if you need it,” Anathema concluded.

Right. Did that mean Tracy wouldn’t be Aziraphale’s partner for this? Excellent, he could get on with exploring the castle on his own. He could read as many interpretation panels as he wanted. He could find dark, quiet corners and have thoughts about dragging a certain handsome stranger into them to his heart’s content.

Aziraphale had been unable to restrain himself from letting his attention on his own reflection lapse during the scrying, his eyes flicking to the side to focus on the man whose blurry image he’d been able to see at the edge of his field of vision. Of course he would be looking at Aziraphale in the mirror, _everyone_ had been looking at him, that was the point, but Aziraphale wanted to see for himself. When he had, the man’s expression had been... well, everything Aziraphale had been fantasising about. His eyes had been locked on Aziraphale’s reflection, and his lips had parted slightly when Aziraphale looked at him. The candlelight had done all sorts of lovely things to his face, and Aziraphale had hoped he would get the opportunity to watch _his_ reflection as well, but it seemed unlikely that he would volunteer, and unfortunately, those suspicions had been proven right.

In Aziraphale's fantasies, the two of them would have gone off to explore the castle together, but given that the man was already here with someone, there was no way that could happen. Still, maybe Aziraphale would accidentally stumble across him, maybe even more than once, and take the opportunity to appreciate what the varying levels of illumination in different parts of the castle did to his gorgeous face. That might be fun.

“Right, well, try to enjoy yourself, love. Who are you going to pair up with?” Tracy asked him.

“No one, I’m fine on my own.”

“Oh? What about that handsome man you were speaking to?”

“I think he’s here with someone,” Aziraphale replied before his brain engaged and pointed out that he had just revealed to Tracy that he did indeed consider the man to be handsome, but she didn’t seem to think anything of it. _I suppose she knows me well enough by now._

“Oh, pity. Well, do try to be sociable,” she teased, patting him on the arm and heading over to join Anathema. Aziraphale shook his head and watched as eager pairs of people headed over to the table to borrow equipment from Newt.

“Hey,” Aziraphale heard from behind him, and whipped around so fast that he risked giving himself whiplash. Several of his internal organs performed elaborate gymnastics routines, which seemed quite unnecessary for a man his age. _Surely_. That said, there was something exhilarating about the experience. It was nice to know he could still feel this way after just meeting someone, and although his insides were scrambling all over themselves as if trying to escape his abdomen, he decided to enjoy it. “So... apparently my _negativity_ is disrupting the _vibrations_ or something,” the man mumbled. “Thought we could go off together?”

“Go off together?” Aziraphale choked.

“Yeah... I get the impression you’re here against your will too?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his nape awkwardly. _I wish that was my hand. Or my neck. Or anything. I’d take anything to be completely honest._

“You could say that.”

“Is Tracy your...?”

“She’s my friend," Aziraphale interjected, possibly too quickly. "I think. After tonight I might alter that assessment.”

“Ouch,” he replied, but actually looked amused.

“Aren’t you here with someone?”

“Yeah, my friend Bee, but they’re the one who,” he began, gesturing incomprehensibly and then wiggling his fingers, “had a problem with my _energy_.”

“What a shame.” In the entirety of the forty-five years of his life, that might have been the least sincere statement Aziraphale had ever managed to utter. “Then yes, why not? Let’s see how many ghosts we can scare off through the power of our combined cynicism.”

That earned him a laugh, and Aziraphale’s chest swelled with pride.

“I’m Crowley, by the way.”

“Aziraphale.” They shook hands and headed for the door.

“Guys! Hey, guys!” Newt called after them. “You need some equipment.”

“Of course we do,” Crowley replied, trouncing Aziraphale’s previous record-beating insincerity and approaching the table. Newt flicked the switch on one of the EVP boxes to test it. It emitted a strange crackling noise, followed by the distinctive smell of melting silicon and a small amount of smoke.

“Oh... erm... here, maybe take this one,” Newt mumbled, looking extremely put out. He picked up another EVP box, didn’t bother to test it, and bundled it into Crowley’s arms along with a Ouija board and a planchette, the wooden triangle-shaped object Anathema had said should be used to control it.

“Thanks.”

“Have fun.”

They both smiled at Newt with raised eyebrows and then stepped out into the dark corridor.

“So, where would you like to go first?” Aziraphale asked.

A string of incomprehensible, contemplative sounds emerged from the back of Crowley's throat, ultimately ending with one very clearly uttered word.

“Bedroom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bopped on the head with a horny stick" was written late at night and at that very point I decided that was enough writing for one day and went to bed, with every intention of editing it out the next day, but in the end I decided to keep it because that's what this fic is all about. Thank you for sticking with me through this silliness, which will actually have some more serious content in the next chapter when Aziraphale and Crowley start getting to know each other!


	5. 11pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley investigate one of the castle's bedrooms and start actually getting to know each other.

Aziraphale blinked, _attempting_ to suppress a smile, which may have just ended up manifesting as a strange twitch in the corners of his mouth. Being asked to go to the bedroom with Crowley invoked all sorts of lovely thoughts in his mind, and he was now fighting with his face to try to conceal that fact. Whatever his expression ended up looking like as a result of this internal struggle, it served to elicit a further series of unintelligible sounds from Crowley, who then clarified, “Anathema said one of the bedrooms was haunted by a red lady or something, that was it, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I do believe it was,” Aziraphale replied with mock sincerity, before finally yielding in the battle to keep the smile off his face. “Very well, then. After you.”

Aziraphale gestured towards the staircase that presumably led up to the bedrooms. Crowley stepped ahead of him, and at that moment Aziraphale felt like the greatest genius who had ever walked the Earth for suggesting that Crowley walk in front of him. The man didn’t actually walk at all, he _sauntered_ , and those trousers were just the right amount of tight... that is, he’d probably have to cut himself out of them.

Aziraphale realised the _full_ extent of his genius when the two of them actually reached the stairs. He paused on the bottom step for far longer than was reasonable, taking a private moment to look Crowley up and down before he blinked hard and forced himself to start moving again. For the best really, appreciating a view like that for too long might cause him to spontaneously combust. Aziraphale actually started to doubt the wisdom of the thermal vest, and tugged at his collar to let cool air rush over his skin.

“What room number was it?” Crowley asked, turning his head back briefly, prompting Aziraphale to force his eyes up... _up_.... _up_... _keep going_... _yes, that’s it_... until he was looking Crowley in the eye.

“2549, I believe.”

They continued along the corridor on the second floor until they came to a door bearing that number.

“The red lady awaits,” Crowley scoffed, this time gesturing for Aziraphale to go ahead of him into the room. Of course, Crowley was almost certainly just being polite, unlike Aziraphale with his ulterior motives, for which he experienced absolutely no shame. Tracy had been encouraging him since the moment she picked him up earlier to _enjoy himself_.

Aziraphale pushed open the bedroom door, and after casting his eyes briefly around the room, settled himself on a comfortable armchair next to the window. The room was lit by an old fashioned incandescent bulb, which had already been switched on when they arrived, blanketing the room in a soft, warm glow.

Crowley followed him into the room, and after an even briefer appraisal of the space, dropped the equipment Newt had given him onto the bed and then flung himself onto it as well, swinging his legs up and stretching them out in front of him.

“So... now we just wait for the ghosts to turn up?” Crowley enquired, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Apparently so, yes.”

Aziraphale could gladly have looked at Crowley stretched out on the bed all night, but, deciding it might be a good idea to pace himself, he turned to look out of the window. This particular bedroom overlooked the car park, which was lit, and he could make out the shape of the old oak trees surrounding it, which were likely at least as old as the castle. The wind had picked up even more, rattling the window frame and letting in a draught, which would hopefully help to keep him cool in the presence of someone so... well, _hot_.

Aziraphale looked back over to Crowley, who had now stretched out completely, resting his head on the pillow and rolling over to face him. Really, how did he have any business being so hot? Scandalous is what it was. Outside, an owl hooted in apparent agreement.

“So,” Crowley began now that Aziraphale was facing him again, “how do you know Tracy?”

“We met many years ago at the theatre. It became apparent that we shared some interests,” Aziraphale replied enigmatically.

“Not a shared interest in the occult though, I take it?”

“No. I have an academic interest in the psychology of it, I suppose, but I’m afraid I can’t quite get behind...”

“Yeah, no, me neither. Bee’s obsessed with paranormal stuff though.”

“Ah, yes, you mentioned your friend. They did seem very keen to volunteer for the scrying,” Aziraphale noted with a raised eyebrow. “How do you know them?”

“Could say we got unceremoniously dumped into the sulphur pits of hell together.” Aziraphale’s eyebrow raised further. “Student accommodation in the 90s,” Crowley clarified.

“I see,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I think I must have been rather fortunate during my time at university, although my accommodation _was_ rather sparse.”

“I bet you like clutter, don’t you? All cosy throw blankets and scatter cushions?”

“Whatever gives you that impression?”

“Am I wrong?”

“I don’t have scatter cushions.”

“Books then, I bet you have loads of books.”

“Possibly.”

“So what would you normally be doing on Halloween? Actually no, wait, let me guess!” Crowley sat up, pulled his legs up under him and leaned towards Aziraphale, resting his elbow on his thigh and his chin on his hand. “Switch all the lights off and hide away _under_ a throw blanket _with_ a good book and one of those little reading lamps you actually attach to the book?”

“Oh, _Crowley_...” Aziraphale lowered his voice and drew out his name, leaning forward in his own chair. Crowley’s eyes widened and he shuffled slightly on the bed. Aziraphale maintained his tone as he continued, “You’re making me question everything I thought I knew.”

Crowley tilted his body forward even more, bringing him ever closer. “Oh, yeah? I’m told it’s one of my _many_ talents, although not everyone appreciates it.” There was certainly something in the way he said ‘many talents’ that, either through design or otherwise, encouraged Aziraphale’s mind to speculate on specific types of talents Crowley might have. “What exactly have I illuminated for you, _Aziraphale_...?”

Crowley did exactly as Aziraphale had, lowering his tone, drawing out his name, and Aziraphale wondered whether it had had the same effect when he’d done it to Crowley as he was experiencing now. He swallowed hard and drew in a deep breath before responding.

“I think there might be some truth in all of this after all.” Aziraphale gestured towards the EVP box and Ouija board Crowley had discarded on the bed. “You are quite evidently psychic.”

Crowley shuffled back up on the bed, threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, I wish! I’d love to get inside your head.”

“Have trouble sleeping, do you?”

Tracy would have chastised Aziraphale for such a self-deprecating remark, but Crowley presumably didn’t know him well enough to do that. He couldn’t argue otherwise, all he knew of Aziraphale was that he was sceptical about the occult and enjoyed reading books and interpretation panels in old castles. If he was observant, he might also possibly have deduced that Aziraphale liked biscuits. In summary, that Aziraphale was _boring_.

“I always sleep exceptionally well, thank you. I’m sure if I poked about a bit I’d come across all sorts of interesting thoughts running through that mind of yours.”

Aziraphale licked his lips, then immediately regretted it, although it had been rather involuntary.

“Oh, wonderful, I’ve been hoping to find someone with whom to discuss nineteenth century architecture.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Aziraphale took that as a victory in whatever this game was they were playing, with its ever-shifting rules.

“What about you? How do you normally spend Halloween?”

“Alone, generally with quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol and a couple of old horror films. Reanimator or Rosemary’s Baby or something.”

“Are the effects too scary for you in modern films?” Aziraphale teased. Crowley gaped at him, and Aziraphale considered reining it in a bit, whatever _it_ was that he was actually doing. It wasn’t really flirting. It was more just being a bit of a bastard, although hopefully just enough of a bastard for Crowley to find him worth getting to know.

“I’m not sure what I’ve done to justify you talking to me like that,” Crowley replied.

_Oh no_... Aziraphale’s stomach lurched; he had never meant to offend Crowley. He was about to apologise when Crowley burst out laughing.

“I got you.”

Aziraphale flinched, but forced a chuckle. Perhaps the game was now just ‘ _who can be a bigger bastard?’_ , and there were definitely two players involved. “Yes, you did.”

Crowley winked at him.

_Whatever this game is, I’m definitely losing._

“So, what do you do for a living?” Aziraphale asked, trying to steer the conversation back to safe, society-approved topics for talking to strangers. He shifted in the armchair and tried to control the fluttering in his chest and the other physiological effects induced by Crowley winking at him.

“I’m an environmental lawyer.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but that did surprise _and_ impress him. “Trying to save the world, are you? That’s admirable.”

“Nyeah, most people seem to think I just go around causing trouble.”

“Well, people don’t always like to be challenged, even if it is in everyone’s best interests in the long run. The status quo is a difficult thing to change.”

“Yeah, it is. All seems a bit hopeless a lot of the time, to be honest, even when there’s a win it’s like a drop in the ocean when you look at the bigger picture, you know?” Aziraphale simply nodded. “Shit, sorry. Bee was right; my energy really is negative enough to scare away even ghosts.”

“Well, I hope you do focus on your successes, it’s important to do that. I’m sure you’ve achieved a great deal of good,” Aziraphale offered. Crowley shrugged. “I mean it, one person can only do so much but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. We may not be able to save the whole world but anything we can do to help, anything that lessens suffering is worth it, isn’t it? Just because there are wildfires blazing somewhere else it’s not going to stop me picking up a snail that’s on the path to stop it getting trodden on.”

“You do that?”

“Of course I do. I like to do good deeds whenever I can. They still matter, I think, even if it is, as you say, a drop in the ocean. Aren’t you the same?”

“Well, I don’t tend to be associated with _good deeds_.”

“Just because you’re not associated with them it doesn’t mean you’re not performing them. Am I right?”

Crowley responded with a shrug and a series of unintelligible sounds that didn’t clearly indicate either assent or disagreement. Perhaps being seen as _nice_ didn’t match his aesthetic.

Given that seemed to be the extent of Crowley’s intended response, Aziraphale tried to think of something else to say. He wasn’t really sure what to say to an environmental lawyer. He kept up-to-date with the news, of course, but his knowledge of environmental issues was pretty general. He could try to steer the conversation in a different direction, but nothing was really coming to mind. In the end, he settled on, “I noticed the coffee cups downstairs are compostable.”

He groaned internally, wishing he could have come up with something better.

“It’s greenwashing, isn’t it? They’re only ‘compostable’ in an industrial composting unit, wouldn’t break down in your standard garden compost heap. And do you think they’re all going to _end up_ in industrial composting units? More likely to end up in some poor whale’s stomach.”

Given the severity of the topic Crowley was speaking on, perhaps this was inappropriate, but hearing him come alive and speak so passionately left Aziraphale feeling like someone stirring his insides with a whisk. Either that or they’d dumped them into a cement mixer.

“Oh... Oh dear,” he managed by way of response, now feeling incredibly guilty for the cup of tea he’d had earlier. _See, proper cups_ are _better._

“Whales are incredible, aren’t they?” Crowley continued, his tone softer now, almost reverent.

“I suppose they are.” Aziraphale searched his mind for something intelligent he could say about whales. “Big brains,” was all he managed to come up with.

“Damn big brains. We’re just dooming ourselves by killing them, you know. When they come up to breathe they, well, they _fertilise_ the surface layers of the ocean, supports the whole food chain, means there’s more fish, right? And the phytoplankton absorb carbon dioxide.”

Aziraphale didn’t really follow, but replied, “I had no idea,” which was technically true.

“Sorry, I doubt you’re interested,” Crowley muttered, withdrawing slightly. Aziraphale pouted, he didn’t like to see the enthusiasm drain from him.

“Whatever could lead you to believe I’m not interested?” Aziraphale asked sincerely, before copying Crowley’s gesture from earlier, resting his chin on his hand and leaning forward. “I assure you, I’m _very_ interested.”

_Extremely interested._

Crowley scrutinised him for a second, then his face broke into a grin. He took a breath ready to speak, but stopped when they both heard footsteps outside the bedroom.

“The Red Lady, do you think?” Crowley smirked, sitting back up on the bed.

“Quick, switch that thing on!” Aziraphale said urgently, pointing to the EVP box. Crowley looked at him quizzically. Aziraphale huffed and tilted his head. “So it looks like we’re doing what we’re supposed to be doing!”

“Don’t like the idea of getting caught not doing as you’re told, eh?”

“Not particularly,” Aziraphale replied, straightening up in his chair and staring pointedly at the electronic device beside Crowley. He expected Crowley to make fun of him, but instead, Crowley reached over to pick up the box, switching it on as Newt had shown them. It immediately started emitting strange noises. “Thank you,” he murmured sincerely.

The sound of footsteps became gradually louder and then once again more distant, as apparently someone walked past the bedroom door without entering. The EVP box started emitting even stranger noises; it was evidently programmed to produce unsettling, eerie sounds.

“Oh, that one definitely sounded like your name!” Crowley teased.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Aziraphale chided. Another sound emerged from the box. “But, well now, that one certainly sounded like yours.”

“Yeah, do you know I think it did. Demons trying to communicate with me through an electronic device... wait, is this my work mobile?”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “I can imagine demons wanting to contact you, actually.” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Try to stop you doing all your good deeds.”

The machine then made some more looping, distorted, and rather sinister noises.

“Oh dear, do you think perhaps the ghosts are upset about something? Perhaps the not-really-compostable cups?” Aziraphale joked.

“Could be.” Then Crowley addressed the aether. “S’all right, guys, I know a place that recycles them; I’ll take them all with me.”

The machine fell silent, and in response, Crowley spread his arms out on either side of him with triumph. Aziraphale laughed.

“Will you really do that?”

“Yeah, ‘course I will.”

Sneaking off to a bedroom in a purportedly haunted castle on Halloween with potentially the most sinfully delicious-looking creature to ever walk the Earth wasn’t quite turning out how Aziraphale had expected. Of course he was gorgeous, and Aziraphale had been looking forward to a few stolen glances, a little bit of semi-discreet ogling as the man walked ahead of him, which had built into the hope of some harmless flirting once the man had seemed receptive, but Crowley was turning out to be nothing like Aziraphale had expected.

When Crowley had switched on the EVP box without question, even though the whole idea was stupid, just because Aziraphale had asked, it was like a switch had been flicked on inside Aziraphale as well. Crowley wasn’t just someone he wanted to flirt with; he was someone he actually wanted to get to know. The whisking in his abdomen was no longer being done by hand, there was now a very powerful electric whisk operating somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach on what appeared to be maximum speed. Crowley wasn’t just sweet enough to put the EVP box on to prevent Aziraphale’s discomfort, he was actually trying to save the world, and he loved whales, and he was intelligent, and he was gentle and funny, and...

“So, what do _you_ do for a living?” Crowley asked, shaking Aziraphale out of his thoughts.

“Nothing very interesting, I’m afraid. I run an old bookshop. My own form of ensuring people _reuse_ , I suppose,” he chuckled.

_Oh, Aziraphale... that’s just embarrassing._

If he had actually been, for some reason, in a situation where he was being _graded_ on his performance at trying to impress an environmental lawyer, the feedback would undoubtedly have been less than complimentary. That said, Crowley actually laughed. Perhaps at just how desperate and pathetic what Aziraphale had said was, but still, Crowley’s face lit up when he laughed, and his eyes crinkled, and Aziraphale had no idea how it could be possible, but he looked _even more_ attractive. The electric whisk also, apparently, turned out to have an even higher speed setting.

“D’you enjoy it?”

“Very much. It became something of a dream of mine, I’m glad I was able to pursue it.”

Crowley then swung his feet back around and stretched out completely on the bed again, like the very picture of temptation incarnate. Aziraphale wondered what would happen if he were to stand up and go and sit on the bed beside him. What if he reached out and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair? His imagination took control of itself, no longer needing further direction, and supplied Aziraphale with images of Crowley pulling him down onto the bed on top of him, drawing him closer until they were...

“It’s so quiet,” Crowley observed, his voice like a hammer to the mirror of Aziraphale’s fantasy. “You don’t notice until you come out of the city, do you? I guess we just get used to all the noise of the traffic.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale managed to reply, tugging at the fabric of his trousers to occupy his hands. As the night progressed he should have started to feel cooler, but he only seemed to be getting hotter. He considered excusing himself, heading for the toilets and taking off the thermal vest. He wouldn’t have put it on if he’d known he’d be spending the night with someone who exuded hotness and stoked a raging fire burning deep inside Aziraphale’s...

_All right, that’s quite enough of that._

The EVP machine hissed again. To Aziraphale, it sounded like “ _kiss him_ ”, which just served to emphasise where his mind was.

“If we turned that thing off I could probably sleep here,” Crowley continued, readjusting his position on the bed and snuggling down against the blankets, getting comfortable. He closed his eyes.

“You’ll give me ideas if you’re not careful,” Aziraphale responded, and it _wasn’t_ flirting, not really. It was just honesty. He was taking the opportunity to let his eyes travel up and down Crowley’s body as he lay stretched out on the bed with his eyes closed, and it _was_ giving Aziraphale ideas. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to stay awake until after three o’clock in the morning.”

Crowley rolled onto his side and opened his eyes.

“This standard Halloween that involves you curled up under a blanket with a good book, that wouldn’t involve you going to bed at like nine pm or something, would it?”

“Possibly.”

Crowley rolled back over and laughed again, and the sound of it added even more warmth to the open fire raging under Aziraphale’s thermal vest.

“Well, I don’t mind giving you ideas. There’s room enough for both of us on here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Room 2549 was the room the hellhound was released from, my theory is that this relates to 2549 being Strong's number for evil that is "inherent even if it's not outwardly expressed", which seems to fit Dog! Any other theories??


	6. 11.45pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley manipulate a Ouija board for flirting purposes.

Aziraphale might have stopped breathing. That _definitely_ sounded like flirting, should he respond in kind or was it about time to put a stop to the steady progression of this game? Aziraphale hadn’t seriously considered the possibility that this flirtation could actually end up being the start of something... did he _want_ to consider that possibility? _Was_ it a possibility, really? Surely if Crowley was flirting, it was just for a bit of fun, after all, he too was here against his will and probably just looking for something to keep himself entertained. Besides, the more he found out about Aziraphale, the more Crowley would undoubtedly find him too boring to want anything further to do with him once the night was over.

Aziraphale could hear Tracy’s voice in his mind, telling him not to be so negative about himself. It was _Crowley_ who had suggested they come to the bedroom, and it was Crowley who was now suggesting he get onto the bed with him... Aziraphale tried his best to settle his breathing without drawing attention to the fact he was doing so. They would just be lying next to each other, that was all, it wasn’t a big deal, and if Aziraphale wanted to keep the option open of even _considering_ that maybe something could actually happen, he needed to keeping playing his part in this game and not lead Crowley to withdraw believing he’d taken things too far.

Aziraphale rose from the armchair and Crowley grinned slyly, shuffling over slightly to make more room on the bed. Aziraphale approached the bed, trying to mask his hesitancy by quickly raising his legs up onto it and settling himself back down with a little wiggle to get comfortable.

“This _is_ rather comfy,” he remarked, facing the ceiling rather than turning towards Crowley.

“So, do you think they’d be pissed off if we just slept through the rest of this?”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them,” Aziraphale chuckled, although he sincerely hoped that wouldn’t happen, as it would deprive him of the opportunity to spend more time getting to know Crowley.

Aziraphale glanced down and could see how close his hand was resting to Crowley’s on the bed. He started devising strategies for how he could brush the back of his hand against Crowley’s and make it appear to be accidental. He also considered doing so in a way that was evidently _not_ accidental.

The EVP box let out some more strange sounds. If Aziraphale didn’t know better he’d have sworn it said “do it”. The last thing he needed was for his mind to start interpreting random electronic sounds as endorsement for his ridiculous plans.

“Are you warm enough?” he opted to ask instead, possibly with ulterior motives.

“Yeah, m’fine,” Crowley mumbled towards the ceiling, then, after a beat, he rolled over to face Aziraphale, who allowed himself a short moment of consideration before doing the same. “Unless you're...” Crowley began, and then the sound of footsteps rematerialised, this time accompanied by short bursts of giggling.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he leapt up from the bed just as the door to the bedroom burst open.

“Oh! Oh, sorry!” one of the intruders offered between giggles.

“S’all right,” Crowley murmured, swinging his legs round and sitting on the side of the bed, facing the door. Aziraphale took a few discreet deep breaths to try to calm the racing of his heart.

“Any sign of the Red Lady?”

“Not yet. Although we did both hear our names _very_ clearly coming from this.” Crowley held up the EVP box and wiggled it about a bit, earning approving sounds from both of the young people that had rushed into the room. “Why don’t you take over? Different energy might help, you know?”

The young people nodded excitedly and Aziraphale felt a pang of disappointment. What was Crowley about to say? What would have happened if they’d had longer to lie on the bed next to each other? Whatever it would have been, Aziraphale was sure it would have been _quite_ a memory to take away from this experience. Crowley stood up and rolled his neck and shoulders, scooping up the equipment from the bed before scooting past the two newcomers to head back out into the corridor. With a polite, albeit forced, smile, Aziraphale followed, and caught up to Crowley already part way down the corridor.

“Would you be young again, if you could?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, good heavens, no! Once was quite enough.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. So where do you want to go now?”

Aziraphale was surprised by the question, as Crowley had been walking (striding? sauntering? swaying? Yes, Aziraphale had definitely been watching his hips _swaying_ as he’d walked ahead) with apparent purpose and direction.

“Well, I had rather hoped to explore the castle a bit,” Aziraphale replied, turning his attention back to the plans he’d initially had to entertain himself for the evening. Hopefully Crowley didn’t know him well enough yet to detect the way his voice wavered slightly.

“Into history, are you?”

He might as well be honest, Crowley already knew he ran an old bookshop and wasn’t averse to going to bed at nine o’clock, was it actually possible to make himself sound more boring?

“Yes. I’d been rather looking forward to it.”

“Well, I can leave you to it, if you like?”

“Oh! Oh no, please don’t do that!” Aziraphale objected, much too emphatically, as evidenced by the fact that Crowley stopped walking and gave him a surprised smile. “I’d much rather have company, if you don’t mind, that is?”

“Of course I don’t mind. Just didn’t want to burden you with my company if you’d’ve rather been alone.”

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you, but I can’t imagine anyone ever feeling particularly _burdened_ with your company.”

_So much for the idea of possibly putting a stop to this._

Crowley snorted with laughter. “If you lined up everyone who’s ever met me, I assure you, you’d be the only one to say that. You just don’t know me well enough yet.”

Why was Aziraphale so sure that he was lying? It wasn’t the first time Crowley had said something self-deprecating when the contrary argument was supported by all of the available evidence. Aziraphale wondered why he felt the need to maintain an appearance of a certain attitude that was clearly not aligned with his true self, which, he admitted, was a bit much when he’d only just met the man. But still, he was curious.

“Well, perhaps you’ll let me get to know you better,” Aziraphale suggested, and Crowley smirked.

“Yeah, maybe. Why don’t you lead the way?”

Aziraphale bowed his head slightly and started heading back towards the staircase. Unlike Crowley, he did _not_ sway his hips as he walked. He led Crowley down two flights of stairs and back to the great hall where the paranormal investigation had begun. There had been a few interpretation panels he hadn’t managed to get to earlier, so it seemed like a good place to start. As they entered the hall, Aziraphale’s hand tingled with the memory of holding Crowley’s. He was pleasantly surprised to find no one else there.

Aziraphale headed straight over to the corner furthest from the door and started reading the panel displayed on the wall there. Unfortunately, he was having trouble concentrating, and there was only so long he could reasonably stare at it before moving on to the next one. Perhaps he could just visit the castle again another time, _alone_ , if he really wanted to learn about the history. He could hear Crowley’s footsteps; the man seemed to be pacing restlessly around the hall and then approached Aziraphale from behind.

“Interesting stuff?”

“Mmm, very.” Or at least, Aziraphale was sure it would have been interesting had he actually managed to concentrate enough to read it, rather than picturing Crowley pacing the room, Crowley lying beside him on the bed upstairs, Crowley pinned up against the interpretation panel while Aziraphale...

“Good. Glad to hear it.” Crowley sighed.

“We can talk, if you prefer?”

“Nah, s’all right, you said you wanted to learn about the history.”

“Well, as it turns out, I think I would rather talk to you.”

“Was my pacing that annoying?” Crowley smirked.

“It was a little distracting,” Aziraphale conceded. “Shall we?” Aziraphale gestured to the long dining table at this end of the hall, and Crowley nodded, sprawling himself over one of the chairs. Aziraphale sat beside him, straightening his spine in an attempt to counteract Crowley’s posture somehow. Crowley leaned his arms on the table and turned to Aziraphale.

“So, this old bookshop of yours... you said it _became_ something of a dream. What did you do before?”

Aziraphale blinked a few times, taken aback by a shift in the warmth growing inside his chest. Crowley had not only been _listening_ to what he’d said in the bedroom, but he actually, apparently, wanted to talk to him more! It was bound not to last long, but Aziraphale was determined to savour that feeling for as long as he could. People were never usually interested in hearing about him, and who could blame them?

“I feel like this won’t surprise you,” he began.

“Well, I _am_ psychic.”

“I needn’t tell you, then.”

“Just trying to make polite conversation. If you’d prefer I sat here and looked into your eyes and read your mind, I’d be willing to try that, but you did suggest talking?”

That was _definitely_ flirting. Maybe Aziraphale needed to stop worrying about whether or not Crowley was flirting and focus on trying to make a decision regarding what to do about it.

“Very well, I was an academic.”

“You’re right, I’m not surprised,” Crowley grinned. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and shook his head admonishingly. “What made you abandon the stimulating world of academia to run an old bookshop?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t have the energy for it anymore. This might sound silly given that you’re a _lawyer_ , but academia can be pretty cutthroat. People not caring who they step on, humiliate, manipulate, to get where they want to be, and for what? _Status_? Leaving early career researchers in tears just to make themselves feel...” Emotions long buried were flooding back to Aziraphale, so he took a moment to breathe and compose himself before continuing. “Do you know what they said to me whenever I spoke out about the toxic culture?”

“What?”

“That I needed to learn to be more resilient! As if _I_ were the one with the problem! Not that perhaps other people should learn not to be so cruel! One day I realised there was no fight left in me, and I quit. Best decision I’ve ever made.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I sometimes feel guilty, like I should have fought harder to try to make things better, but I just wasn’t cut out for it I suppose. I’m too soft,” Aziraphale sighed. “I must sound silly, I’m sure you’ve not let toxic hierarchies force _you_ out of anything.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You seem... I don’t know, _tougher_ than that?”

“On the outside, maybe.”

Was Crowley actually letting his guard down? Aziraphale wanted to peel away the layers and get to know as much as he could about Crowley in the short time they would have together, which was a dramatic shift from an couple of hours ago, when all he’d thought about peeling away were the layers of Crowley’s clothes, of which, incidentally, there weren’t enough of for this time of night in a castle in October.

“Anyway,” Crowley continued. How long had Aziraphale been staring at him? “It’s good that you were able to get out, do something you actually enjoy, something peaceful. We can’t keep fighting forever, you shouldn’t feel guilty.”

“ _You_ haven’t stopped fighting. To save the world, I mean.”

“Not yet, but I think about it. I wonder if I could do as much good in a quieter way, you know, like buy some land, manage it as a nature reserve or something?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah, I love working with plants especially. Shame I can’t afford it yet! But I’ve been saving up, so one day...”

“It’ll be worth the wait, you can take it from me.”

“I absolutely will take it from you,” Crowley replied, with such a sincere smile that Aziraphale assumed it wasn’t innuendo, although he couldn’t be entirely sure. “Thank you. It’s nice to speak to someone who’s done it, you know, jacked it all in and not regretted it, if you know what I mean?”

“I do. It’s nice to speak to someone who doesn’t think I was being silly.”

“I’ve thought about going freelance. Not law, though, I mean like ecological consultancy or something.”

“Did you know the word freelance comes from when there were knights who weren’t loyal to anyone in particular, and they could be hired to fight by whomever?”

“I did _not_ know that,” Crowley replied, sounding impressed and, perhaps, yes, even interested. “I like the idea of that. Only agreeing to fight the battles I want to fight instead of just being expected to join a war I don’t agree with. I bet you know all sorts of fascinating facts with words like that, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, I do have an interest in etymology.”

“Oh yeah, what’s your favourite insect?”

“What? No! That’s _ento_ mology...” Aziraphale began, before watching the grin that Crowley was evidently trying to hold back spread over his face. They were sitting so close, and Crowley was looking at him _like that_ , and Aziraphale had no chance of denying that this was so much more than physical; he was becoming _seriously_ attracted to Crowley. “Oh, I see, you’re teasing me.”

“Mmm. Don’t you like being teased?”

Aziraphale clasped his hands together in his lap and breathed out heavily, and it was sort of a laugh, possibly, but what it _wasn’t_ was long enough to buy him enough time to think about how to respond.

“I suppose that depends,” he croaked. He was tempted to clear his throat, but that would surely just draw more attention to how his voice had wavered once again.

“Oh, yeah? On what?”

“Who’s doing the teasing, of course,” he replied more steadily, although he did so staring at the surface of the table, rather than looking at Crowley, and he was fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

“Fair enough,” Crowley grinned. Aziraphale’s eyes darted around, searching for inspiration for a change of subject. They landed on the paranormal investigation equipment Crowley had evidently set down on the table when they’d entered the hall.

“Maybe we should put that box back on, in case someone comes?” Aziraphale suggested, pointing to the EVP device.

“Nah, it’s too annoying; I’m enjoying the quiet. Is that all right? We can just put the Ouija board between us and then if someone comes in pretend we were using it.”

“I like the way you think.”

_I really do._

“Thanks. That’s also something I don’t hear a lot of,” Crowley joked, before reaching out and pulling the Ouija board, and the planchette that went with it, towards him and then sliding it along the table so it was resting between them.

“I think you’ve been spending time with the wrong people,” Aziraphale said sincerely. Crowley looked right into his eyes and tilted his head slightly.

“You know, I think maybe I have.”

Right on cue, they heard footsteps approaching the hall, and turned their heads to look over their shoulders back towards the door, where Anathema and Tracy appeared.

“Ah, there you are love!” Tracy beamed, approaching Aziraphale and squeezing his shoulders. “How are you two getting on?”

“We’re getting on very well,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. Both the smile, and the reply, were directed at Crowley rather than Tracy. “Aren’t we?”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Marvellous!” Tracy gave his shoulders one last squeeze and then perched on the table beside him. “Have you detected anything yet?”

“Nothing conclusive with this thing,” Crowley replied, pointing to the EVP box. “Although we did hear some strange noises coming from it in the bedroom.”

_Yes, the strange noises that always come from it._ Crowley seemed to have a talent for saying things that were technically true, but didn’t mean what they _appeared_ to mean. Aziraphale wondered if he’d learnt that skill in law school.

“But we were just about to try the Ouija board,” Crowley finished, sticking to their plan. It also wouldn’t be a lie, as long as they actually did it.

“Don’t forget to move the planchette to GOODBYE when you’re finished,” Anathema warned sternly, coming closer to hover over Crowley’s shoulder.

“We won’t,” Aziraphale replied petulantly. He never liked the feeling that someone felt the need to repeat an instruction, even if he _had_ been distracted when Anathema was talking about how to use the Ouija board earlier.

“Do you have any questions? Anything we can help with?” Anathema continued.

“No, no, I think we’re fine, thank you.”

Tracy slid off the table and winked at Aziraphale, which he had no way of knowing whether Crowley saw, and put her hand on Anathema’s back to steer her out of the room. Aziraphale felt guilty for his earlier comment to Crowley about re-evaluating his friendship with Tracy, even if it had been meant in jest, as they did seem to be of one mind at the moment. For the most part, anyway.

“Well, I wouldn’t like to have been dishonest,” Crowley said, providing evidence to support Aziraphale’s suspicions as he pointed at the Ouija board, “so shall we have a go with this thing?”

“Yes, all right, then. Don’t cheat.”

“Would I?” Crowley pressed his palm to his chest, pretending to be scandalised by the suggestion of such a thing before lowering his hand so that his fingertips were resting lightly on the planchette, just as Anathema had demonstrated at the beginning of the evening. Aziraphale did the same on the other side, intentionally, but very lightly, touching his fingertips to Crowley’s. He wondered whether Crowley might discreetly shuffle his fingers back a few millimetres, but he didn’t. It felt like completing a circuit, electricity now running through Aziraphale’s hand and up his arm.

“Well, why don’t you ask the spirits something?” Aziraphale suggested.

“All right. Spirits? Yeah, hi guys. Are Ouija boards a load of bollocks?”

“Oh, really now!” Aziraphale tried to chide Crowley, but ended up chuckling as the planchette, guided by both their hands, moved to YES. They grinned at each other and moved the planchette back to the middle of the board.

“All right, sorry,” Crowley mumbled through his grin. “Will I fulfil my dream of managing my own nature reserve?”

The planchette moved to YES.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a grateful smile, as though he’d had anything to do with the movement of the planchette into its position on the board, which of course he had.

_I believe in you. Don’t ever give up on your dreams._

“Thanks, spirits. Right, your turn.”

“Very well... Will a horribly embarrassing incident befall my old head of department, Gabriel?”

The planchette moved quickly, this time delivering an _emphatic_ YES.

“Oh, good. It couldn’t happen to anyone more deserving, I assure you.”

Crowley squinted and nodded in solidarity, despite the fact that Aziraphale hadn’t actually explicitly mentioned Gabriel when talking about his former employment. It felt satisfying to have Crowley on his side.

“Did Aziraphale secretly like it when I teased him?” Crowley asked out of nowhere.

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked up from the board, but Crowley kept his gaze focused downwards. Aziraphale’s heart started beating faster, but he was grateful to see there were no outward signs of his internal distress in the hand that rested on the planchette, which, somehow, appeared steady.

Aziraphale could feel the planchette resting still beneath his fingers. Apparently this time, Crowley wasn’t planning to move it. More hesitantly than previously, it once again slid over to YES.

“Interesting,” Crowley drawled, dragging the word out.

“For someone who claims to be a sceptic, you seem to be placing a lot of stock in the responses of spirits,” Aziraphale countered, dragging the planchette back to the middle again. He couldn’t quite believe how brave he’d been to admit that to Crowley, but he hadn’t wanted to lie.

_I do hope I haven’t done the wrong thing._

It was now Aziraphale’s turn to ask a question, and perhaps he should respond in kind, although he wasn’t really sure what to ask. Using a Ouija board to flirt with someone was definitely a new experience.

“Does Crowley have any idea how cold it’s going to get by three o’clock in the morning? Does he really think his attire is appropriate for something like this?”

“That’s _two_ questions; you’re just going to confuse the spirits,” Crowley pointed out. “Does Aziraphale actually think I look pretty good dressed like this?”

“That’s not fair; the spirits haven’t had the chance to answer _my_ questions!”

Crowley made a sort of conceding noise and shrugged without removing his hand from the planchette.

“I apologise if my two questions were confusing, spirits, I had simply rather assumed the answer to both would be the same.” Aziraphale summoned all the courage he could find. He had made a decision. He wanted to take this game as far as it would go. He wanted to see if something could actually happen with Crowley. Using the Ouija board was actually making it easier to be brave, and Aziraphale didn’t want to squander the opportunity. “Does Crowley _care_ about whether or not I think he looks good?” he asked teasingly.

Their eyes met, and Crowley let out a long breath, licking his lips as if contemplating his answer. Aziraphale lifted his fingers slightly from the planchette, giving Crowley total control over its movement. It wasn’t a dramatic sweeping motion across the board as it had been in response to the question about Gabriel, but the planchette did move, and came to land on NO.

“Well then, there really is no need for him to ask the question, is there?” Aziraphale announced to the aether, hoping to sound smug, but breaking apart inside more than he could possibly justify.

_That’s what you get for trying to be brave._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww poor Aziraphale... next chapter will be Crowley POV!
> 
> Anyone else going to The Ineffable Con? I'm running a session teaching magic that even Aziraphale could do (including a couple of tricks that I mentioned in my fic The Invisible Touch), would be amazing to see some of you there! :-)


	7. 12.30am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tries to salvage the situation, but things get worse for him when he and Aziraphale visit the castle's dungeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the end of the last chapter, Crowley means well, I promise!

_Should I have lied? Maybe I should have just lied._

Aziraphale had done a pretty good job of hiding it, but Crowley had a talent for reading people. It wasn’t necessarily something Crowley thought he _should_ dwell on, but Aziraphale had evidently experienced some disappointment at his response.

_Yeah, well, who wants to be told you don’t care what they think? By anyone?_

Of course, despite those thoughts, Crowley suspected that it indicated Aziraphale might have been actively hoping for him to say YES. Aziraphale seemed to have been warming up to him, pun intended, more and more as the night went on. Crowley had devoured Aziraphale’s expressions that indicated he was impressed with something Crowley had said, and had found himself more and more _trying_ to impress him as they’d spoken.

The fact was, this had the potential to be the start of something, and that’s why Crowley had answered honestly the way he had. He _didn’t_ care what Aziraphale thought of how he looked. He might have, earlier, when he had wanted to get his attention and entertain himself with a bit of flirting, but now, he only actually cared about what Aziraphale thought of him as a person. Now that he came to think about it, it was ridiculous to think something like that about someone he’d just met a few hours ago, but, regardless, there it was.

The man was so different from anyone Crowley normally got the chance to speak to. It was as though he was from a whole other world. He’d had the courage to challenge a toxic work culture to protect the welfare of others, with no consideration of the impact it might have on his own career prospects or status. He’d even been brave enough to walk away from it and pursue his dreams. There was just something about him, he seemed so soft and gentle, sweet but with a double shot of bastard, clever, witty, caring...

_Seriously, Crowley!_

The fact was that what had started simply as... Crowley decided to characterise it as an _aesthetic appreciation_ for the man, had grown into a full blown attraction that was more than physical, and Crowley had started trying to work out whether this was something he wanted to try to take further. Was there any chance of Aziraphale wanting to see him again after this night was over?

_Probably would have had a better chance if I hadn’t pushed the thing to NO..._

_But I didn’t want to lie to him. Shit._

Crowley would have to come up with something to salvage this, or there was no chance of Aziraphale wanting to speak to him again.

“Well, perhaps that’s enough insights from the spirits,” Aziraphale said, huffing out a breath. It was only then that Crowley realised he hadn’t actually said anything, and it had been far too long. Aziraphale pulled the planchette towards him and left it on GOODBYE.

“You really do like following the rules, don’t you?” Crowley asked softly, not a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I’m not sure I like it. I just find it difficult not to do as I’m told.”

“Well, that’s ok, it sounds like you do what’s right for you when it matters.”

_I really like you, Aziraphale._

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale still seemed slightly dejected. Crowley already missed the sparkle he had in his eyes when he was being a bit of a bastard, the way his cheeks rounded so adorably when he grinned, the joy and brightness he’d exuded when he’d talked about his bookshop. Honestly, the man was capable of glowing like he really was a fucking angel.

_Shit!_

“So, shall we...” Crowley began, then stopped abruptly as another pair of ghost hunters entered the hall. They all exchanged pleasant nods and smiles of acknowledgement, but no words were spoken between them. Crowley lowered his voice and modified the end of his planned question. “Shall we go somewhere quieter?”

Of course the hall _was_ quiet, almost eerily so, what he meant was _shall we go somewhere we can be alone?_

“Yes, good idea. I’d like to see more of the castle.”

“Right, yeah, sorry.”

“That’s quite all right. When we came in I noticed a series of doors along the corridor, just past where the children’s party was. Perhaps we could explore those?”

“Sounds good, but how about we head to the break room first for coffee?”

“What about the cups?”

“I stashed away the one I used earlier to reuse it, when we went back after the scrying.”

“Oh, that’s very clever,” Aziraphale beamed, his face brightening again, and Crowley melted under the intensity of the smile and the mere _existence_ of any praise from Aziraphale. Could someone like Aziraphale really think that Crowley was someone _good_? Crowley felt a rush of warmth, the first he had experienced since Aziraphale had taken his hand earlier, and absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder.

They headed back upstairs to the break room, finding a few other people in there who didn’t even glance up when they entered. Crowley retrieved his cup from his secret hiding place behind a plant pot on the windowsill and gave Aziraphale a proud grin.

“I wish I’d thought of that. I’m afraid I just left mine... somewhere.” Aziraphale was glancing around the room, evidently trying to ascertain which of the twenty or so abandoned coffee cups might be his.

“Don’t worry, I told you, I’ll find them all and take them with me later to make sure they get recycled. Of course recycling isn’t the _solution_ but it’s much better than nothing, and it’s well past your bedtime, angel, you’re going to need the caffeine. Environmental Lawyer Anthony J. Crowley says it’s ok,” he teased.

“Anthony?” Aziraphale questioned, and Crowley shrugged and nodded. “What does the J stand for?”

“S’just a J really, makes me look more professional on my business cards.” They grinned at each other, holding their gaze for a moment, before Aziraphale’s expression suddenly changed.

“What did you call me?” he asked. Crowley furrowed his brow.

“When?”

“Just now. Did you call me _angel_?”

_Shit._ Or maybe this was... _not_ shit. Maybe this was a good thing.

“Yeah, is that all right?” Crowley looked at him hopefully, but Aziraphale’s eyes were cast down and he was fidgeting with his hands. “If you don’t like it, I won’t do it again. Sorry.”

“No, I... I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale replied, flicking his eyes up very quickly to look at Crowley before focusing on pulling a new cup out of the wrapping (plastic, _obviously_ , polyethylene resin; well, he’d just take that with him too) and putting a tea bag into it. As Aziraphale filled his cup using the hot water urn, Crowley shuffled up next to him, their arms brushing together, and filled his own cup with coffee. “I liked it very much,” Aziraphale said softly to his cup of tea.

Maybe Crowley had managed to, albeit accidentally, salvage this after all. He leaned closer and turned his head so that he was practically whispering in Aziraphale’s ear, his voice deep and low. “Good.”

Crowley decided the best approach was to not to wait for a reaction. He picked up his coffee and walked away towards the door, gently brushing up against Aziraphale in the process. His plan was to turn back if Aziraphale wasn’t with him by the time he reached the doorway, but it soon became apparent that wouldn’t be necessary, as after a pause, rapid footsteps approached him from behind. Crowley kept walking, heading back to the staircase and down to the ground floor. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Aziraphale yet. He needed to work out what the hell he was going to do _now_ , followed very rapidly by what he was going to do _next_. Eventually, he had to look at Aziraphale, and tried to maintain a neutral expression when he did, until he could decide on a plan.

“Where did you want to start?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale paced up and down, examining the panels beside the doors. He stopped in front of one right at the end, where the corridor opened up into the foyer where Crowley and Bee had first entered the castle. The huge, ornate front doors were propped open, and a gust of wind blew through from outside, sending shivers through Crowley’s body, which he had no hope of masking from Aziraphale despite the fact he very much wanted to, following Aziraphale’s comments about his clothes.

_I should have said yes. I could have explained it. Yes, I do care what you think of how I look, except I don’t really, I just want you to like_ me _, but if you thought I looked good, I’d like that, I’d feel really good about that. I really would. Shitshitshitshitshit._

“How about the dungeon? That seems fitting for the occasion, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale suggested lightly.

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley laughed under his breath. Aziraphale pulled open the door and smiled at Crowley.

“After you.”

Crowley found himself walking down a shallow ramp into a dark room, illuminated only by the light coming in through the doorway. There were chains attached to metal hooks along one of the walls, presumably not a genuine part of the castle’s history, although Crowley really had no idea, history was hardly his strong suit. He suspected the chains had been added when the castle was opened to the public just to give the room a more _dungeony_ feel.

Crowley considered the possibility he might not get to see Aziraphale again once the night was over, and experienced an uncomfortable knotting sensation in his chest. Even if that were the case, though, he knew he would never forget him, and he’d just had an idea to help make sure of it. Unfortunately, the poor illumination would work against him, but he was going to go for it anyway.

“Shall we get a dungeon selfie?” Crowled asked, forcing a grin onto his face, pulling his phone out of his pocket and wiggling in front of Aziraphale. It was a terrible excuse, but he couldn’t let himself go home without a permanent visual record of the angel that stood beside him, especially the more he found himself worrying that things wouldn’t work out how he wanted them to. And if somehow they _did_ , well, maybe it was a photo they could show at their wedding.

_Ridiculous._

Aziraphale scrunched his face up quizzically.

“You don’t want me to get into the chains, do you?”

Crowley blinked. He looked over at the chains, then back to Aziraphale, then forced himself to do nothing else with what his brain had achieved by fusing those two images. The knotting in his chest relaxed a little. He could do this. Why was it so much harder to flirt now he actually had intentions beyond this evening?

“You into that sort of thing?” Crowley teased. Aziraphale tilted his head and this time, gave Crowley a look he really couldn’t read. “Ok, fine, no, but let’s get them in the background so it’s obvious we’re in the dungeon.”

Aziraphale relented, moving closer to Crowley, both standing with their backs towards the wall. Crowley was just debating whether to loop his arm around Aziraphale’s waist and pull him close to take the picture when a powerful gust of wind swept through the foyer and caught the door leading to the dungeon, slamming it closed and plunging them into total darkness.

Crowley’s entire body jolted and he dropped his phone, hearing it thud against the hard stone floor. Crowley opened and closed his eyes in rapid succession, finding no difference in the amount of light entering his eyes. His stomach clenched and his heart started pounding as he dropped to his knees and began frantically feeling around the dusty floor for his phone, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps moving away from him, and as soon as his hand had settled on his phone he clutched it tightly, unlocked the screen and activated the torch, rapidly sweeping the light across the dungeon like a lighthouse, searching for Aziraphale with trembling hands.

He discovered him by the door, his palms pressed to it and moving across its surface.

“I can’t find a handle,” Aziraphale grumbled, although he sounded more frustrated than concerned. Crowley rushed over to him, his breathing still rapid and shallow, scanning the surface of the door with the light from his phone. There had apparently once been a handle on this side of the door, but now there was just a round hole where it used to be. Aziraphale pushed two fingers into the hole, searching for a mechanism, and Crowley was absolutely determined to commit that image to memory for later, wanting to believe that _horny_ beats _terrified_ in the state of his body sweepstakes. Crowley could see the effort Aziraphale was putting in to try to work the door open, and wished he wasn’t wearing quite so many layers so that Crowley could actually see the flex of his muscles beneath his clothes.

Oh, look at that, horny _does_ beat terrified. More accurately, horny was just about able to raise its head above the thrashing waves of terror that were drowning the rest of him. _It’s not that tight a space, and you’re not alone, it’ll be fine_ , he tried to calm himself, but logical thought wasn’t winning this debate. His heart thundered against his ribcage and his stomach turned itself in knots.

_Just call Bee, tell them where you are. It’ll be fine._

Aziraphale seemed to have abandoned his attempts to open the door and retreated to the centre of the dungeon, pulling his coat down as far as it would go and settling himself on the ground resignedly.

“Just gonna call my friend,” Crowley mumbled, finding Bee’s number and pressing the call button.

_No service._

“Shit! No signal. What network you on?”

“I don’t have a mobile phone.”

“You _what_?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ok. Ok. Ok, ok...” Crowley muttered to himself as he paced back and fore across the dungeon floor.

“Crowley, come and sit down.”

“Look, I don’t believe in ghosts and shit like that but sometimes I... I get a bit claustrophobic.”

“I can see that. Come on, sit down, it’ll be fine. It’s not as though no one knows we’re in the castle, they’re hardly going to leave without us. Let’s talk, take your mind off it.”

“I fell into a well when I was a child, it was so dark and I couldn’t get out, I wasn’t strong enough to climb, and when my parents found me they told me it was my own fault I fell, that I was always too curious,” he rambled.

“Crowley, remembering that isn’t going to help you right now. Put it out of your mind. Please, come and sit with me.”

_Right. Hot, adorable, wonderful angel asking me to sit with him, focus on what’s important for God’s sake, you’re supposed to be salvaging this, not making it worse!_

Crowley crouched down and sat opposite Aziraphale, his legs crossed underneath him. The floor was somehow even colder than the air, and a violent shiver wracked his body.

Crowley placed his phone down on the ground beside him, the artificial light incongruous but providing welcome relief from the oppressive dark of the dungeon.

“What did you want to talk about?” Crowley ventured, his breath hitching with a combination of the fear and the cold.

“Would you like to hear about the history of the castle?” Aziraphale murmured softly, and Crowley nodded vigorously. Fuck the history of the castle, but he was desperate for the distraction and to hear the sweet, soothing sound of Aziraphale’s voice.

“Well, it was built in 1830 by...”

The light being emitted from Crowley’s phone extinguished itself, plunging them back into darkness. Crowley immediately reached for it to switch it back on.

_Insufficient battery to operate torch. Battery 5%._

“Shit! No! My battery’s dying!” Crowley gasped and then groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “This can’t be happening...”

“It’s all right, my dear, you’re not alone and it’s going to be fine. I’m sure someone will be along any minute. Have you ever learnt any techniques to help you manage this?”

“Actually yes. Just the one but it’s _brilliant_. _Stay the fuck out of confined spaces_!”

Crowley pressed his hands harder against his face. _Total fucking disaster._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear it could get very cold in that dungeon


	8. 1.30am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley needs warming up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How can we get Crowley warm?? I have no idea.

Crowley was shivering violently. He considered getting up from the ground and pacing to warm up and relieve some of the anxiety. At the very least it would put an end to the relentless surges of cold radiating up from the ground into his body. But he was immobilised by the darkness and a strong desire not to move away from Aziraphale, fearing he might not find him again.

“Fuck! I’m freezing!” he growled and another shiver wracked his body.

“I’m not surprised, dear boy, there’s nothing of you! Here, take my coat.” He could hear shuffling and the rustling of fabrics against each other.

“No, you need it,” Crowley protested.

“I’m wearing a thermal vest, Crowley, you need it more.” The fabric of Aziraphale’s coat collided with Crowley’s legs as Aziraphale pushed it towards him, and he seized it gratefully, feeling around to determine the correct orientation and pushing his arms into the sleeves. It was much too big for him, so rather than buttoning it up he wrapped it tightly around himself like a blanket. He buried his head in it and breathed in deeply. Aziraphale’s scent was imprinted on the fabric, and he was determined to commit that scent to memory to add an extra dimension to his future fantasies.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t think of it earlier. You should put my hat on as well, keeping your head warm is most important.” Crowley felt softness brush against his hands as Aziraphale handed over his hat. He would just borrow it for a little while he told himself, not long enough to let this absolute angel actually get cold.

“Thank you,” he repeated, not really sure what else he could say.

“You _really_ didn’t come dressed for this, did you?”

“I didn’t think it would be so cold! I don’t have a lot of experience spending the night in haunted castles!” Another thought occurred to him then that amplified the panic. “We won’t run out of air, will we?”

“Oh no, of course not, these old castles aren’t exactly air tight.”

“Well that’s something.”

The orchestra playing the symphony of sounds echoing around the dungeon recruited another instrument, as rain started to fall heavily onto the ground. The wind picked up, and a rhythmic dripping began as the water started to ingress into the dungeon, proving Aziraphale’s point that it wasn’t air tight. Crowley instinctively closed his eyes, for what good it would do, and tried to think of anything but that well he had been trapped in as a child. Of course, the more he thought about _not_ thinking about it, the more the image etched itself into his mind.

“Oh God...” he groaned. If there had been any hope of Aziraphale being interested in seeing him again after this, that had surely been gradually eroded away by the ever-increasing intensity of his claustrophobia. Crowley’s hopes that he could salvage the situation had been completely thrown out of the window. If only there was an _actual_ window he could crawl out of...

The only thing keeping him grounded was the unbearable cold piercing his flesh, demanding his attention. Images of the well were replaced by images of lying in bed, heating cranked up so high that he was wearing only a loose T shirt and briefs, Aziraphale pressed up behind him with his arms wrapped around him, his warmth radiating into him along the length of his body. Crowley wondered, if he’d done things differently, might that actually have been something that could have happened? His heart ached at the thought of what he might have squandered.

For fuck’s sake, he’d known the man for all of _five hours_ , how could he be so completely gone for him? Still, the image he had conjured in his mind helped, so he indulged it, but despite the warmth of it, his teeth were chattering, and he tugged Aziraphale’s hat right down to his eyebrows.

“Oh, Crowley, you’re still shivering aren’t you? You poor man,” Aziraphale cooed, then continued after a pause. “This might be... a little awkward but... perhaps I could help?”

“You’ve already helped, I’m not taking anything else off you.”

“No, I wasn’t suggesting that. You see, my thermal vest is working wonders, I thought I could...” Aziraphale trailed off, but Crowley’s eyes widened so much that for the first time he thought he could actually make out the slightest traces of light coming in through the cracks. “Would that be all right? If I came closer?”

Crowley nodded emphatically, taking too long to realise that Aziraphale couldn’t see him.

“Yes...” he forced out between his chattering teeth. “Please.”

Crowley heard shuffling, and felt Aziraphale move closer to him, positioning himself so that he could wrap his arms around Crowley. He was _so_ warm, so _outrageously_ warm, and Crowley sank into him, pressing as much of his body as he could up against that heat, lifting his own arms up to pull Aziraphale even closer. His heart was still racing, he had no idea how much of that was due to fear and how much of it was from being held by Aziraphale, who could undoubtedly _feel_ it given Crowley’s entire body was pulsing with it. That is, if Aziraphale could discern his heartbeat given how violently Crowley was shivering. Which of these tangible responses was responsible, Crowley wasn’t sure, but Aziraphale began rubbing his hands up and down his back quite affectionately, murmuring soothing phrases in his ear.

It felt amazing, but equally _mortifying_. Still, given that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell (which might as well have been Crowley’s chance in hell given how cold he was) that Aziraphale would want to see him again after all this, Crowley was determined to make the most of it. He even tilted his head so that he was leaning in even closer to Aziraphale. The tightness in his chest started to dissipate, and his breathing gradually slowed down.

“Does that feel better?” Aziraphale whispered, oh so close to his ear. Was that revenge for him doing the same to Aziraphale up in the break room?

“You’re like a fucking radiator.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Yeah. Yes. It feels better. You feel amazing actually.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything in response to that, and despite an initial lurch in his gut, Crowley didn’t regret saying it. What difference did it make at this point anyway? He took a deep breath and squeezed Aziraphale even tighter. He didn’t seem to mind, and this time, when his hands ran up Crowley’s back, they continued over the sides of his neck, reaching up to tug the hat down even more over his ears. Crowley trembled and sucked in a breath, hoping both involuntary responses could be ascribed to the cold.

Somewhere in Crowley’s mind he allowed himself to fantasise about tilting his head ever so slightly, and Aziraphale doing the same, their lips coming together, and this turning into one hell of a night to remember in a castle dungeon. He couldn’t, though. Even if Aziraphale had been up for it (although Crowley suspected comforting a trembling, claustrophobic wreck _wasn’t_ one of Aziraphale’s turn-ons, so that was extremely unlikely anyway), Crowley had genuinely wanted to see if there was something _real_ here, if this could be the start of something special...

Maybe it did seem crazy, they’d only met... well, _yesterday_ now, technically, but everything has to start somewhere, and there was something so evidently special about Aziraphale. If only Crowley hadn’t made such an enormous fool of himself. He should be able to control his stupid fears by now.

That thought was a mistake, because remembering his fears drew Crowley’s attention back out from the immediate warmth and softness of Aziraphale to his wider surroundings, and a repeat of the realisation that they were trapped in a pitch black dungeon. He started gasping for breath again, and Aziraphale reached a hand up behind his head, pressing down against the hat to encourage Crowley closer to him.

“You’re all right, it’s going to be fine, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry. This is so humiliating,” Crowley muttered against Aziraphale’s shoulders between his shallow breaths.

“You really shouldn’t be concerned about that, we all have our fears, and the extent to which we are able to rationalise them does little to control their severity. I’m sure my own anxieties would put yours to shame. I actually hid from Gabriel in a toilet once,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Your arsehole boss?” Crowley asked, lifting his head even though he couldn’t see Aziraphale.

“The very same, yes.”

“Is that what you like about running a bookshop? Not having a boss to hide away from?”

“It’s part of it, yes. I do enjoy the freedom of it. Sometimes I obtain rare old books I decide I don’t actually want to sell, and I just get to decide for myself that I’ll keep them. It makes me a terrible bookseller, I know, but there’s no one to judge me for it.”

“That sounds amazing, angel,” Crowley panted. Aziraphale chuckled.

“It really is. You’ll achieve your dreams, Crowley, I know you will. You’re such a good person, I can see that already.”

Crowley felt another lurch in his stomach, and realised that this dread was something other than mortification about having a claustrophobic attack in front of a hot angel, or even about being trapped in a freezing cold dungeon... he had actually _let his guard down_. Shit. Crowley _never_ let his guard down. Aziraphale was calling him a _good person_. No one was supposed to think Crowley was a good person. Maybe Crowley knew deep down that he _was_ , but he was never supposed to show that side of himself to _anyone_.

Fuck it if Aziraphale hadn’t been right on the money when he’d described his previous working environment, but maybe he didn’t realise the whole world was toxic like that, and Crowley was nowhere near as brave as Aziraphale, he’d only survived it by constructing a facade and resolutely hiding behind it. It shouldn’t have been so easy for someone he’d just met to break through it.

For a moment, Crowley forced himself to acknowledge the _relief_ of actually letting his guard down with someone... but no, he couldn’t risk it. What if they actually started a relationship? What if he took Aziraphale to work functions, and he let something slip about Crowley to his colleagues? Something he’d carefully concealed from them?

He was getting ahead of himself, but still. Crowley was actually relieved that he’d almost certainly blown his chances with Aziraphale.

_Bullshit._

He instinctively strengthened his hold on Aziraphale, hoping it would just seem like he was trying to suck more of his warmth out of him. Crowley needed to work out what the hell he actually wanted, and that was insanely difficult with his body still dropping in and out of the clutches of panic. If he couldn’t figure out what to do, the default option would come into effect. He would end up doing _nothing_.

“You’re still cold?” Aziraphale murmured. Apparently he had interpreted Crowley’s actions the way he’d intended.

“Yeah.”

“My normal Halloween plans don’t seem so silly now, do they?” Aziraphale teased. Fucking hell, he was _teasing_ him. “I bet you’d love to be curled up under a nice warm blanket next to the fire in my cosy little bookshop.”

“You live in your bookshop?”

“Above it, yes. Try visualising it, it might make you feel warmer and more relaxed.”

Crowley did. He pictured Aziraphale’s bookshop, probably completely cluttered and disorganised so no one could ever find anything and then he could keep all the books for himself. _He probably makes himself pots of tea and then keeps them warm with tartan tea cosies. Or cocoa, Aziraphale would definitely love hot cocoa._

Crowley pictured himself there, on a soft, comfortable sofa, blankets wrapped around him, an ultra-efficient wood burning stove with a roaring fire, and it was so, so _warm_.

“I can be there with you, if you like,” Aziraphale murmured next to his ear. Crowley didn’t respond. He actually felt his eyes prick with tears. _What the fuck?_ “Do you think you’d like that? I _am_ a human radiator, after all,” Aziraphale chuckled, then paused, but Crowley still said nothing. His head was spinning.

He _could_ let someone in. He’d always imagined that he might, one day, but the time had never seemed right. He’d only come to this fucking castle because Bee was an idiot and practically forced him (and, incidentally, had promised he wouldn’t end up in any confined spaces for what that was worth, the lying little shit). He could never have expected anything like this to happen. He certainly hadn’t expected to end up analysing himself, trying to work out what he really wanted from his life, who he wanted to be...

This _thing_ with Aziraphale, it was just supposed to be a bit of fun. A _pleasant_ memory. Now it felt like thinking back to this once it was over was just going to make his heart ache. He focused on the feeling of Aziraphale’s warm body pressed against his, trying his very best to turn this into a memory he could look back on fondly. All of his more inappropriate thoughts seemed to have slipped from his mind.

Aziraphale kept talking despite Crowley’s lack of response. “I could hold you like this, but under the blanket. I have a nice, old comfortable sofa in the back room in my shop, or there’s always the bed.”

Crowley couldn’t help but let his mind be swept along by the fantasy that Aziraphale was describing, but he gave no outward sign of it.

“I could help to keep you warm, like this,” Aziraphale continued, rubbing his hands more vigorously over Crowley’s back.

Despite the cold, the fear, the questioning and self-loathing, Crowley was lost in the images Aziraphale had conjured in his mind. Maybe he could have that. Aziraphale certainly _did_ seem interested...

But Crowley didn’t even know who he truly was beneath the image of himself he’d cultivated, so was this really the time to consider attempting to enter into a relationship, before he had chance to figure that out and build the life he actually wanted? A casual thing would be fine, sure, but he could already tell Aziraphale was too special for something like that. You don’t have a _casual thing_ with an _angel_.

In the end, Crowley decided that maybe the right decision was just to leave it to Aziraphale. If he was really that interested in Crowley, then Aziraphale would do something about it, and if he _was_ that interested, then maybe it was worth working through all this shit. If he didn’t, then clearly he wasn’t that interested in the first place, and Crowley’s night would end with him going home, falling asleep, and then waking up later and still being alone, and he was completely and totally fine with that. He certainly hadn’t planned for anything any different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww poor Aziraphale being ever so brave and Crowley just being a disaster... It'll switch back to Aziraphale POV in the next chapter!


	9. 2am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley are rescued from the dungeon. The event ends, and they say goodbye...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got a bit of a reverse situation going on here haven't we with Aziraphale being the one making all the effort and Crowley being more reluctant... back to Aziraphale's POV now!

Aziraphale’s heart was beating harder and faster every time he spoke and received no response from Crowley. After Crowley had brushed up against him in the break room, and leaned in close to whisper in his ear, Aziraphale had decided not to read too much into the fact that he’d said he didn’t care what Aziraphale thought of how he looked. After all, that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in him. In fact, it was quite a healthy attitude to take. Perhaps Crowley simply cared more about what people thought of him as a person, and that thought had made Aziraphale warm to him even more.

Then he’d wanted to take a photograph with him, that was a good sign, wasn’t it? Aziraphale had tried so hard to ignore the anguish he’d experienced when he’d felt Crowley was rejecting him, having now rationalised his response, and had tried once again to be brave and to enjoy flirting with him. The time had gone much more quickly than Aziraphale had imagined, and soon his time with Crowley would be over. He had been determined to do more to make his interest in Crowley more obvious, and they had even joked about the chains in the dungeon.

But now... Aziraphale was being braver than he could remember being for a long time. He was encouraging Crowley to fantasise about the two of them together, maybe even in bed, holding each other, and Crowley wasn’t responding at all. At first, Aziraphale pressed on, determined to keep trying, but when he still received no response, verbal or otherwise, he realised he had pushed too far and had made Crowley feel uncomfortable. He took a deep breath and sighed.

Perhaps it was for the best. Someone like Crowley couldn’t really, truly, be interested in him. He’d known that all along. This was just a bit of fun. So why did it feel like being kicked in the stomach? He fought the instinct to hug Crowley tighter against him, and simply focused on how amazing it felt to be holding him, and to have Crowley’s hands clinging onto him, seeking his warmth.

Aziraphale lifted his head and instinctively turned towards the door as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He was about to call out when the door opened gradually and light swept into the dungeon. Crowley immediately scrambled out of Aziraphale’s grasp, leapt to his feet and ran up the ramp, encountering Anathema and Tracy in the doorway.

“Sorry, excuse me! I have to find Bee,” he muttered as he rushed past them and out of Aziraphale’s sight. Aziraphale immediately mourned the loss of Crowley from his arms, and blinked, gaping for a second before he forced himself back into reality.

“Apparently he’s claustrophobic. The door got stuck, please hold it open,” Aziraphale said calmly, rising from the floor and brushing off the back of his trousers to remove the dust.

“Good thing we found you. Tracy was actually guided here by the spirit of the boy we were telling you about earlier.”

“Yes, it is a good thing indeed,” Aziraphale smiled, not commenting on the means by which he and Crowley had _apparently_ been discovered.

“You gave that lovely man your coat?” Tracy asked.

“Well, did you see what he was wearing?”

“I didn’t particularly notice, love, but that was very kind of you. You must be cold now, come on, let’s get you up to the break room for a nice cup of tea.”

“That sounds lovely. Could you give me a hand with these, please?” Aziraphale asked, not easily able to carry the EVP box, Ouija board, planchette _and_ the tea cup he absolutely intended to reuse.

“Sure, hon,” Anathema said, leaving Tracy holding the door open and stepping down the ramp to take some of the equipment from him. She then led the way out of the dungeon, and Aziraphale fell into step with Tracy as they headed back towards the staircase.

“The spirits wouldn’t have trapped you in there without good reason,” she suggested.

“Perhaps not, but a gust of wind might,” Aziraphale replied pragmatically. Tracy nudged him with her elbow.

“Oh, come on now. You’re telling me nothing happened?”

“I’m telling you nothing happened.”

Tracy stopped walking and studied him. “Oh... you _mean_ that, don’t you? I’m sorry, love.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I can tell you’re disappointed.”

“Tracy, I met the man five hours ago.”

“Yes, I know, but with the right person it doesn’t take long to feel a connection.” She wrapped her arm around Aziraphale’s waist and rested her head against him gently as they walked slowly behind Anathema back up the stairs to the break room.

Aziraphale wasn’t surprised Tracy could pick up on how he was feeling. You hardly needed to be psychic... He could feel the slight slump of his shoulders and the heaviness in his eyes from more than just fatigue. Tracy was right, he had felt a _connection_ with Crowley. Something inside of Aziraphale had lit up when they were speaking, like a door had been opened and he was actually being invited out, to interact with someone in a way that was true to himself.

Aziraphale had started the evening by thinking Crowley was quite possibly the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen, but he was evidently so much more than that. Aziraphale would have loved nothing more than the chance to get to know him even better. Still, Aziraphale knew that at least he would have another chance to see Crowley at some point in the next hour, after all, he still had his coat and hat.

When they entered the break room, Tracy headed over to the table of refreshments and moved to extract a cup from the plastic wrapping, but Aziraphale called after her to stop her, holding out his cup from before. She smiled and took it from him, and he slumped down into one of the chairs in the circle, hanging his head down and rubbing his eyes. The fatigue was really starting to hit him hard. He desperately wanted to just be in bed, even if he was destined to always end up there alone.

Tracy approached and held out the cup of tea, which he took gratefully, cradling it between his hands more for the comfort than the warmth.

“Thank you.”

Tracy sat down beside him and then held out a chocolate covered shortbread. Aziraphale smiled weakly, but sincerely, and took it.

“I know, I know, I’m wonderful.”

“Yes you are. I hope everything has gone well tonight.”

“It’s been fantastic, thank you for coming with me, love. Look, are you sure nothing happened with that lovely gentleman? It’s just... I know you hate things like this and have almost certainly found the whole night ridiculous, but the reason I invited you... _Mr_ Shadwell may well be a grumpy pain in the backside but he _would_ have come with me, it’s just, well, you’ll think this is silly too, but the spirits told me you would meet someone special if I brought you here.”

Aziraphale didn’t have any energy left to object.

“Well, maybe I did meet someone special. That doesn’t mean anything has to come from it, my dear.”

Tracy wrapped her arm around him again. He would have reciprocated, but he had one hand occupied with his tea and the other with his biscuit. There were fewer more pleasurable ways Aziraphale had found to occupy his hands, besides the obvious of course. Holding and warming up Crowley, for example.

At that moment, the man himself skulked into the room, flanked by his friend, Bee. Aziraphale’s face twitched when he observed that Crowley had already removed his coat and hat, carrying them draped over his arm. He placed them down on the table where Newt had set up the equipment at the start of the night, met Aziraphale’s eye just long enough to nod towards his coat, and then steered Bee towards the refreshments. He was still carrying his coffee cup from before. Even in his desperation to flee the dungeon, he must have picked it up.

When Crowley sat down in the corner with Bee, Aziraphale chanced a glance at him, but it soon became evident that he did not need to risk being caught. Crowley was pointedly not looking at him, and was engaged in conversation with Bee, who was talking animatedly about something, but in hushed tones.

Crowley looked different under the bright, harsh artificial light of the break room. Here, amongst the chairs and tables, cups, flasks, biscuits and plant pots, it was like being transported back in time to when they had first arrived. As if the events of the evening had never really happened at all. As if, just a few short moments ago, Aziraphale _hadn’t_ been holding Crowley in his arms.

“You should go and talk to him,” Tracy whispered.

“No, I don’t think he wants that,” Aziraphale replied sadly, taking a bite out of his biscuit and a sip of his tea. Tracy furrowed her brow and shook her head, but didn’t press the issue. “Could I stay with you for the rest of the night, please?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

“Of course you can, love. Anathema can stay with Newt and you and I will have a nice little walk around the castle.”

“Thank you, Tracy. I really appreciate it.”

“You just drink your tea and get warmed up, and then we’ll go, hmm?”

“Can we go now? I can take the tea with me.”

“All right then, come on.”

With one final glance over at Crowley, who seemed to be on the receiving end of something of a tirade from his diminutive friend (they seemed pretty intimidating despite their size), Aziraphale headed over to the table and set down his tea long enough to shrug his coat back on and pull his hat back onto his head. He’d assumed when he got his coat back he would have had another chance to talk to Crowley. Maybe he could have at least apologised for overstepping and making him feel uncomfortable, taking advantage of the fact that he was so cold and afraid in the dungeon. That really had been wrong, hadn’t it, to hold him like that, and to say those things he'd been thinking about? Aziraphale sighed sadly and felt Tracy’s arm loop around his waist.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. Why don’t you show me some fancy architecture or something?” she teased. Aziraphale managed a small, polite laugh in response.

The next half hour passed with Aziraphale in something of a trance. There was a dull ache, like a dense weight, nestled in his chest, and nothing seemed to shake it. He managed to talk to Tracy a bit about the castle, and she talked to him about the spirit of a black and white dog she’d seen scampering through the corridors, and Aziraphale had smiled weakly at her and just felt happy that she did something she truly enjoyed for a living, like he did. Like Crowley should.

At 2.30am, the whole group gathered back together in the break room to look at the results of some of the other machines Newt had set up. He seemed to be beside himself with joy that all the equipment had worked just as it should. The attendees gawked over temperature changes and electromagnetic fluctuations as if they couldn’t be explained by anything other than the supernatural. Still, they seemed to be having a good time, so what was the harm, really, Aziraphale thought. Perhaps he was just too exhausted to maintain his usual level of cynicism.

He tried to catch Crowley’s eye a few times while Anathema and Newt were talking, but Crowley had kept his eyes resolutely fixed forward, as if he were truly interested in cold spots and the unexplained breaking of laser beams that actually _could_ be explained by rats and mice.

Then, much too late but much too soon, Anathema, Tracy and Newt were wishing everyone a good night, and thanking them for coming. And just like that, it was over.

Aziraphale’s eyes once again found Crowley, and he pressed his palm to his heart, watching Crowley have a quick word with Anathema before scurrying efficiently around the break room, picking up cups and putting them into a bag. He even took the plastic film the cups had been wrapped in.

“Thank you, hon, that’s really sweet,” Anathema smiled at him.

“S’no problem.”

“You take care, now.”

“Yeah. You too. Goodnight.”

Aziraphale felt Tracy loop her arm through his. “You ready?”

Aziraphale swallowed and smiled at her. “I am.”

He took one last look at Crowley, and started when their eyes actually met. Crowley took a step closer to him, but they were still several metres apart.

“Goodnight, Aziraphale. It was nice to meet you.”

“Goodnight, Crowley. Yes, it was nice to meet you too. All the best with... everything.”

Crowley nodded, poked his friend harshly in the centre of their back, slung the bag of coffee cups over his shoulder and then walked out of the door. So that really was it. Aziraphale yawned, and hoped it would cover the origins of the moisture now building in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "GOODBYE"?
> 
> Sorry for the delay posting this chapter by the way, it was so I could post an even more self-indulgent and ridiculous "Crowley is a hot optician and Aziraphale needs new nifty little reading glasses" fic, here if you're interested! https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954869


	10. 3am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to leave the castle, but is this really goodbye?

Aziraphale was leaning heavily against Tracy as they headed back down the staircase, along the corridor and back through the foyer, the candles in the pumpkins long since burnt down. If she found it uncomfortable, she didn’t object, she just kept her arm around him and didn’t say anything. Maybe she was busy asking the spirits how they could have got it so wrong. Had they existed, and had they been listening, they would, of course, have pointed out that they could hardly be held responsible for Aziraphale’s poor judgement.

As they crossed the car park towards Tracy’s car, Aziraphale caught sight of Crowley again. This would be the last time he would ever see him. He was stood beside a beautiful black vintage car, apparently engrossed in a disagreement with his friend, so there seemed little chance he would look up and notice Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s heart leapt when Crowley actually did look up and meet his eyes. Aziraphale froze for a moment, and Crowley took a small step closer before seeming to stop himself. He looked at Aziraphale with such a sincere expression and mouthed something intended only for Aziraphale to see, which was easily decipherable as ‘thank you so much’. Crowley pressed his hand to his heart, and a warm glow spread through Aziraphale’s chest.

_Oh my goodness, that’s very sweet, although I’m not really sure what he’s thanking me for. Perhaps I should go over to him?_ Aziraphale wondered, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it, so he just smiled and nodded sleepily, and with a bittersweet sigh he tugged on the handle of the passenger side door of Tracy’s car and flopped down into the seat.

He turned to look through the window back at the castle. Perhaps he had the power to shape his memories to be whatever he wanted them to be. Although he’d hoped something more might happen, perhaps he could still remember this evening fondly. He’d met a man, a sexy, wonderful, intelligent man, who had listened to him, flirted with him, and wanted to spend time with him. They were just two people who had met and talked and enjoyed each other’s company, and so what if there had been a spark between them? Most sparks didn’t end up igniting fires.

He’d been disappointed that Crowley seemed to not want to take things further, but the way he had looked at him just now, with such sincere gratitude, just left Aziraphale feeling confused. Had he _not_ disliked what Aziraphale had been doing and saying in the dungeon? Aziraphale wasn’t claustrophobic but he had certainly experienced panic, it was perfectly reasonable to assume Crowley would have struggled to express himself while they were trapped there. Although Crowley _could_ have spoken to him afterwards in the break room... Once again Aziraphale’s stomach knotted with the thought that he probably _had_ made Crowley feel uncomfortable. He wished he could at least apologise for that.

For the briefest moment, Aziraphale turned away and closed his eyes, fantasising that there would be a knock on the window, and he would turn and see Crowley. Aziraphale would wind down the window and Crowley would smile at him as though nothing had gone wrong, as if Aziraphale hadn’t taken things too far, and he would give him his phone number and say he wanted to see him again. But of course, that didn’t happen.

_I wish I could just say sorry._

“I suppose we’d best be going,” Tracy suggested.

Aziraphale just stared ahead of him. He could still see Crowley through the windscreen. He hadn’t left yet. He was still standing beside the car with his friend. Tracy turned the key in the ignition and the car juddered to life. She turned the heat up to maximum, then put one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear stick.

Aziraphale looked down into his lap and felt the old car jerk slightly as Tracy depressed the clutch and moved the car into first gear, her hand then sliding back to the handbrake. Aziraphale’s stomach lurched and his body was flooded with adrenaline.

“Tracy?”

“Mmm?”

“Fuck it.”

Aziraphale pushed open the car door with more force than necessary and clambered out.

“I’ll get the car warmed up for you,” Tracy called after him, her voice betraying her grin. Aziraphale closed the car door behind him, prepared to march across the car park to Crowley, but when he looked up, he saw that Crowley himself was crossing the short distance across the car park towards him. They met somewhere in the middle.

“I’m just gonna...” Bee shouted across the car park, pointing at the car. They opened the door and climbed in, slamming it shut behind them and leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone outside.

“Hi,” Crowley murmured.

“Hello again,” Aziraphale said softly. His voice wavered, and he could feel his hands trembling. They’d already said goodbye; they both could have just left, and yet here they were standing in front of each other, having _both_ apparently decided there was more to say. This didn’t feel like a game anymore.

Aziraphale’s attention was drawn to Crowley’s car, where Bee’s face was practically pressed up against the passenger side window. He then looked back over his shoulder, discovering that, inevitably, Tracy was watching them as well.

“Do you think we could talk for a moment? Perhaps somewhere more private?” Aziraphale suggested. Crowley turned around and glared at Bee, then nodded.

Aziraphale would have loved to take Crowley’s hand, his mind awash with the fantasies he had indulged earlier, finding a dark, quiet corner and dragging Crowley there... Instead, he simply walked ahead of Crowley and led him into the trees that lined the car park, concealing himself behind one of the large, old oaks. Aziraphale leaned his back against the tree, grateful for its support, and Crowley stepped around it and stood in front of him, watching him expectantly.

Right. Now Aziraphale had to actually say something.

“I’m sorry to keep you,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously.

“Don’t be.”

“I just... I wanted to apologise to you, Crowley. If I made you feel uncomfortable, I mean. I’m afraid I’m not good with... well, _people_.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.”

“Well, you know, when I was saying those... things... about... oh, you know. You were very quiet; I’m not sure you liked it? Anyway, I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“Oh, no, I _definitely_ liked it. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just... concentrating. I was picturing it, what you were describing. It was nice.”

“It was?”

“It was _really_ nice, angel. Took my mind right off everything.”

“Oh. All right. Sorry. I just got the impression you were avoiding me after that?”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow and studied Crowley, desperately trying to read him, but completely unable to deduce what he was thinking. Aziraphale hadn’t thought that much past the fact that he wanted to apologise. He had hoped Crowley would accept his apology but hadn’t considered what he would say if he was told he actually had nothing for which to apologise. Crowley groaned.

“I’m sorry. I guess I was just embarrassed. I can’t believe you saw me like that.”

Aziraphale pouted. He could understand that Crowley might feel embarrassed, but wished he’d done more to make Crowley realise he wasn’t judging him for his involuntary and completely reasonable response to the situation they’d found themselves in. Still, after getting to know the man a little, Aziraphale thought he could recognise the expression Crowley had when he was saying something that was true, but it wasn’t _really_ the answer to the question he’d been asked. The lines across Aziraphale’s forehead deepened. Crowley pressed his palms to his face and rubbed his eyes.

“All right, it was more than that,” Crowley conceded, running a hand through his hair. “But it wasn't you. You really didn't do anything wrong, I promise. I guess I’ve just got some stuff I need to deal with.”

Aziraphale’s mouth twitched into a brief, sympathetic smile. That was definitely a bad sign, but it was fair enough. If Crowley had wanted to enjoy a fun night of harmless flirting without wanting anything more serious then there was nothing wrong with that. Five hours ago, Aziraphale had felt the same. Aziraphale feeling so dejected at the thought of nothing more coming from it after such a short time was, when he forced himself to consider it, pretty unreasonable. He was glad he’d been brave enough to speak to Crowley, though. It was like closure. He could dwell on the fact that he felt the need for _closure_ when he’d only known the man for six hours some other time. At least he now knew he hadn’t actually made Crowley feel uncomfortable.

_He actually said he liked it._

“I understand.”

“Thanks.”

Aziraphale smiled sincerely. “Of course, and thank you so much for tonight. I was dreading it, honestly, but I actually had a rather lovely time.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Crowley smiled at him then, looking right into his eyes with more heat than even Aziraphale’s thermal vest had managed to generate, and Aziraphale felt himself melting under the intensity of it. His chest ached with the anticipation of the regret he would have to live with if he didn’t find out explicitly, without any room whatsoever for doubting himself, whether there was a chance of seeing Crowley again. But hadn’t Crowley made his feelings clear by saying he had ‘stuff to deal with’?

_I don’t really know._

It had been evident to Aziraphale since very early in the evening that Crowley had an image of himself that he wanted to portray that didn’t completely align with who he really was. Perhaps if Aziraphale let his own guard down a little, Crowley might feel more comfortable? He was preparing to do just that, but it was actually Crowley who spoke next.

“I’m really sorry that I made you feel like _you_ needed to apologise to _me_ , angel. You were _wonderful_. Thanks for being so patient when I was...” Crowley finished that sentence with a series of unintelligible sounds, accompanied by some vague gesturing. “Bee’s right, I’m an idiot.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks colour at the thought that the disagreement he had witnessed between Crowley and his friend might actually have been about _him_.

_He just said I was wonderful._

“You’re not an idiot at all! Believe me, I understand completely, but... just to say, we all have _stuff_ , Crowley. We barely scratched the surface of _mine_ tonight, let me assure you.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and steeled himself. His heart had migrated up to his throat and was thrashing around wildly there, and he was actually physically trembling. He clutched his hands together to try to help calm himself.

_Here goes nothing._

“But I would very much like, and please forgive me if I’m being too forward, but if there is any chance you would be amenable, I would like to have the chance to get to know you better.” Aziraphale realised he’d delivered this ineloquent speech to his feet, and glanced up to Crowley to determine his reaction, looking at him hopefully. Crowley licked his lips. “What do you think? Would that be all right?” Aziraphale prompted.

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a couple of times without saying anything, followed by a few more unintelligible noises, finally followed by actual words.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Erm... yeah. Yes! That’d be great. Really great.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a beaming smile. Maybe he should have tried to restrain it a little, but a wave of relief and the joy of _possibility_ crashed over him, and he couldn’t help himself.

“May I give you my phone number?”

Crowley smirked affectionately. “You mean your _landline_?”

“Yes, my _landline_. Remember, I live and work in the same place and my idea of a fun evening, as you so accurately deduced, is curling up under a blanket with a good book, so I hardly think you’ll have trouble should you wish to reach me.”

“Point taken,” Crowley replied with an kind smile. He reached into his ridiculously tight pocket for his phone. “Oh, shit, I forgot, my battery died. Do you have a pen?”

“I’m afraid not. Don’t you?”

“Nah, I literally only own one pen and it’s at work. Fancy old fashioned thing you have to refill from a proper ink bottle. Less plastic waste.”

“That’s admirable. You have a fondness for fancy old fashioned things, do you?” Aziraphale tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, you mean like the car?” Crowley grinned slyly like a demon. “Well, not usually, but I do make an exception for something truly worthwhile.” Crowley reached out, tenderly straightening up and smoothing down the lapel of Aziraphale’s coat, and Aziraphale’s throat constricted, which at least stopped his heart from leaping out of it. A pulse of heat shot right down through his body. It felt like he’d been struck by lightning. This spark was definitely becoming a flame. “So... this bookshop of yours, where is it?”

“Soho,” Aziraphale croaked, struggling to manage his body’s response to Crowley’s simple touch. “A.Z. Fell’s.”

“What’s the Z stand for?”

“Just a Z really,” Aziraphale mumbled. He cleared his throat and forced himself to breathe. “Makes the shop seem more professional on the sign.”

They grinned at each other, and something passed between them, like two train carriages locking together with a magnetic seal ready to set out on a journey connected, as one. It was the closest Aziraphale had ever come to believing in anything supernatural. There was definitely something there between them, he could _feel_ it, and he’d never felt anything like this before.

“Touché,” Crowley drawled. “All right, then. I’ll find you.”

“I’d like that,” Aziraphale murmured softly. He pressed his hands back against the oak tree as leverage, lifting himself off it to step closer to Crowley before enveloping him in a drawn-out hug that felt so much more intimate than what they had shared in the dungeon. Crowley wrapped his arms gently around him this time.

“Thank you, angel,” Crowley smiled when they separated. Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off him.

_He’s going to come and find me._

“Well, I suppose I’d better be going. Tracy’s keeping the engine running to get the car warm,” Aziraphale admitted sheepishly. Crowley winced and sucked in a breath between his teeth. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ll sponsor a whale tomorrow or something. I _promise_.”

Crowley looked at him with such intense affection that it took Aziraphale’s breath away. He then licked his lips, pressed his palms to Aziraphale’s shoulders, pushing him gently back against the oak tree before leaning in to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek, nuzzling against Aziraphale’s neck as he withdrew. Aziraphale swallowed hard.

“Do that again and I’ll sponsor a whole _pod_ of whales,” he croaked. Crowley chuckled softly, and they grinned at each other again. Aziraphale felt like he was burning from the inside out, the cold wind whipping against his cheeks certainly exacerbating the flush that had settled there. Crowley had _kissed him_. He wanted to do the same.

Aziraphale reached out and smoothed the back of his fingers across Crowley’s cheek.

“May I?” he whispered.

“Oh, hell yes,” Crowley growled. Aziraphale stepped closer and leaned in slowly, gently brushing his lips against Crowley’s cheek. Crowley shivered.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t be keeping you out in the cold like this. I just want to bundle you up in layers!” Aziraphale laughed, rubbing his hands up and down Crowley’s arms in an attempt to warm him.

“Someone fantasising about putting clothes _on_ me, that’s a new one.”

“We wrap presents for a reason, my dear.”

“Oh, I can’t _wait_ to get to know you better,” Crowley murmured wistfully. Aziraphale parted his lips to respond, but was distracted by movement around his ankles. He jumped back, and Crowley did the same. “What the fuck? Was that a fox or something?”

“Must have been. Fast though, I didn’t see it,” Aziraphale replied, turning his head and searching for the offending animal that had interrupted their intimate moment. Once he had turned towards the courtyard, his eyes widened and he stared open-mouthed, unable to speak. He batted Crowley’s arm to get his attention, and Crowley turned his head in the same direction.

“Holy shit,” Crowley muttered. Aziraphale said nothing. They both just stared at the hazy image of four horses standing in the courtyard, three of them being mounted. A child laughed, and Aziraphale clutched Crowley’s arm. He moved out from behind the oak tree and looked up at the castle, to the window of the bedroom they had been in earlier. A figure wearing red, with long, red hair, was staring out at him, hand raised over her heart. Moments later, she emerged through the wall of the castle and mounted the final horse. All four riders saluted in their direction, and then turned and rode off in the opposite direction. Aziraphale swallowed.

“We’re both just really tired. Both exactly the same amount of tired and so we’re seeing exactly the same things, right?”

“We don’t know that. You haven’t told me what you see. So let’s not talk about it. Just ignore it, pretend it isn’t happening.”

“That’s not what I expected to hear from an environmental lawyer.”

“You cheeky bastard, do you _want_ to talk about this?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“Not really, no.”

“Then we’re ignoring it, and you’re going to walk back with me to my car, just because it’s on your way anyway.”

“But Tracy is parked over...”

“Angel, if you let go of me, I swear to God, Satan and everything else holy and unholy...”

“All right. Yes. Let’s... let’s get you back to your car.”

Aziraphale linked his arm with Crowley’s, trembling but actively pretending he wasn’t, as they walked unsteadily back towards Crowley’s car.

“Well, goodnight then,” Aziraphale offered, his voice unsteady. He held his hand out towards Crowley, who took it and squeezed it.

“Goodnight, angel. I’ll see you soon.”

Aziraphale nodded and smiled, retracting his hand and turning away, walking back towards Tracy’s car. He could see her grinning through the windscreen and rolled his eyes in response.

Then, for the first time that evening, or in fact ever in his life, Aziraphale sent out a thought to the spirits.

_Thank you. Thank you so much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They got there in the end! <3
> 
> When Crowley hears Tracy's car start that's when he has a sudden moment of intense regret and desperation to fix it - that's the thing with regret, it only really kicks in once something actually becomes a reality and we often don't anticipate how powerful it will be. Crowley was trying to be rational and tell himself it had only been six hours and he should be sensible and try to actually deal with his 'stuff' before starting a relationship with anyone, but he didn't realise how hard it would hit him when Aziraphale leaving forever actually became a reality, that's why he's already part way across the car park when Aziraphale gets out of Tracy's car. So if Aziraphale hadn't been brave enough, rest assured that Crowley would have legged it over to Tracy's car to initiate their conversation. But since Crowley is always the one asking Aziraphale to run away with him in the show, I made Aziraphale do more of the work this time. ;-)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and happy spooky season! :-)


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